


Raising Indy

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Cryptid Baby Acquisition, Angst, Co-Parenting, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Implied Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Maybe it’s sort of strange, to ask your best friend to raise an interdimensional baby with you, Ryan wonders.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wowza, okay, so. This has been a long time coming (by which I mean around the end of October 2018, it just feels like it's been years). It all started because I rewatched the Mothman Unsolved ep, and the little baby Mothman cookies that one shop sells were just _really_ inspiring, for whatever reason. This was meant to be a quick, little, one-off thing, and then it kept growing, to the point that we made a whole collection for baby cryptid fics. It all started here, haha. 
> 
> There's a lot of rambling I could do about this fic, but I'll leave it at my usual: thanks to Hannah and Bess for beta'ing (see the end notes for other thanks!)
> 
> I sincerely hope y'all enjoy this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s just a sign from the universe, trying to tell them to fuck off, or grow up, or _something_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, it begins!

There’s no telling whose fault it is. Maybe TJ’s, for agreeing to let them sleep in the fucking woods. Maybe Shane’s, for bringing a bottle of wine along and thinking it was a good idea to split it between himself and Ryan. Maybe Ryan’s, for deciding that the Unsolved crew needed to revisit the Point Pleasant woods and take another go at Mothman.

Maybe it’s just a sign from the universe, trying to tell them to fuck off, or grow up, or _something_.

There’s really just no way to know whose fault it is that Ryan wakes up with a small, furry bundle resting on his chest the morning after camping in Point Pleasant.

That being said, Ryan still screams bloody murder when two impossibly wide, blood-red eyes peer up at him.

The scream wakes Shane and startles the bundle; Shane flails wildly in his sleeping bag beside Ryan as the bundle starts to shriek. It doesn’t move from Ryan’s chest, but its screech is high pitched and whiny and, frighteningly, not unlike Shane’s own joking Mothman call. Ryan’s own scream eventually trails off and by the time he’s silent, the bundle still screams and Shane stares at the two of them, shocked.

“Is that a fucking mothbaby?” Shane asks. Ryan can barely hear him over the screeching.

“Don’t swear around it!” Ryan hisses back. The screeching stops abruptly as the thing peers up at Ryan again. Its eyes are still disconcerting, a predatory type of red, but it blinks slowly and earnestly.

“Did you—did you just tell me not to swear around a _mothbaby_?”

“It’s still a _baby_!”

The mothbaby lets out a little screech, not as ear-splitting and instead almost… _cute_.

“Yeah, see?” Ryan says as his voice edges into a hysterical tone. He can feel himself starting to panic and pushes the feeling away. “Just a baby.”

“Lord almighty,” Shane whispers faintly. “Why is there a mothbaby in our tent?”

“I don’t know!” Ryan works an arm out of his sleeping bag and brings it to cup the mothbaby’s back. He sits up slowly and cradles the thing to his chest, because it seems like the right thing to do, even as his heart beats triple time in his chest.

Shane just stares, mouth hanging open, which Ryan decides is super unhelpful.

“Hey,” Ryan says quietly. The mothbaby stares up at him intently. “Do you know what you’re doing here?”

The mothbaby blinks.

“Gonna take that as a no,” Shane says.

“Don’t talk to it like it’s _stupid_ ,” Ryan hisses. “For all you know, this thing is _just_ as powerful as Mothman! It could travel through dimensions, maybe.”

“Maybe.” Shane’s voice is flat.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Shane.” He sets the baby down in his lap on its back, and cradles its head.

Or, what he thinks is its head. Its whole body and head kind of blend into one, not much of a neck to speak of. It’s not-quite-dark-gray all over, fuzzy to the touch; tiny antennae stick out from the top of its head and, after a brief check, Ryan realizes it does have wings, they’re just small and tucked close to its chest. It’s got small legs, also tucked close and inky black compared to the rest of its body, but no arms and no mouth that Ryan can see through its fur.

“What’re we gonna do?” Shane asks after a long moment of quiet.

“We can’t…we can’t just leave it,” Ryan says carefully.

“Why not?”

“ _Dude_.”

“It’s not ours!” Shane gestures grandly to the bundle in Ryan’s lap. “What kind of dickhead parent leaves its baby with strangers, anyway?”

“I mean, maybe Mothman doesn’t think of us as strangers. We have been here before.” Ryan brings his other hand up and strokes at the fuzzy top of the baby’s head.

“No offense, Ryan, you’re pretty much my best friend, but I wouldn’t trust you with _my_ baby.”

“You don’t have a baby, so it doesn’t matter.”

The mothbaby squeaks, and Ryan chooses to take it as agreement.

“What time is it?” Ryan asks instead of arguing more.

“Uh.” Shane digs around for his phone and pulls it out from the far end of the tent, somehow. “Almost six in the morning.”

“Maybe we should take it for a walk. Maybe it’s a mistake.” Ryan keeps petting the mothbaby’s head. “Maybe Mothman is looking for, for it.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Shane asks.

“Why is wanting to return the baby to its rightful owner a crazier idea than just _leaving_ this thing to fend for itself?”

Shane’s mouth shuts with a click.

Ryan shakes his head. “ _I’ll_ go for a walk then.” It takes some careful maneuvering to scoot out of the tent while keeping the mothbaby cradled in his arms. He rises to a crouch once he hits the twig-covered forest floor and stands slowly. All the while, he’s keenly aware of both Shane’s and the mothbaby’s eyes on him.

“C’mon little guy,” Ryan says. “Let’s go find your dad!”

It screeches softly and wiggles in his arms, which Ryan thinks means “yes, Ryan, great idea!”

Ryan grins down at the thing, and then he’s off. He stops at the edge of their campsite to make sure he has his phone and contemplates grabbing a GoPro just in case. In the end, he shrugs it off, keeps the mothbaby secure in his arms, and trudges into the forest around them.

He walks around for upwards of an hour before making his way back to the campsite. Shane’s just finishing up packing, and he doesn’t look all that surprised to see the mothbaby still cuddled to Ryan’s chest.

“So, no Mothman?”

Ryan scowls. “No. I even tried doing the call.”

“Those calls were stupid,” Shane replies.

“They work on the little guy!” Ryan insists. “He goes nuts over them!”

Shane looks curious for a split second before it’s gone. “We need to get going, TJ and the guys will be here soon.”

“Okay,” Ryan agrees. “Thanks for getting the stuff together.” He shifts the mothbaby from one arm to the other and reaches for his backpack that sits at Shane’s feet.

“We can’t bring that thing back.”

“We can’t leave it here.” Ryan, defensively, holds the baby closer.

“How’re you gonna get it on the plane? You can’t say it’s your _child_ or something. We don’t have papers for it.”

Ryan bites the inside of his cheek. “I’ll figure something out. Who knows, maybe it can just, like, teleport me back to LA.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“Why are you being such a dick about this?” Ryan finds himself asking as they stand around the burnt-out campfire. “You’ve been a jerk since this started.”

“I’m being practical,” Shane fires back.

“You’re being a dick,” Ryan corrects. “It’s just a baby, dude. What crawled up your, your butt and died?”

“You’re seriously censoring yourself around a fucking—?”

“Dude!”

The mothbaby squeaks and burrows close to Ryan’s chest, fuzzy little face pressed against his shirt. Ryan’s not sure where the instinct comes from, but he immediately coos softly to the creature. He strokes his hand over the baby’s head and murmurs little quiet, reassuring things. The squeaking continues for a few seconds before it quiets and the mothbaby opens its eyes again.

“Dude,” Ryan hisses at Shane.

Shane looks only a little guilty, but before he can say anything—either to apologize or continue being a dick, Ryan’s not sure—the sound of TJ and the crew approaching cuts him off.

“Just be cool,” Ryan says as he steps around Shane. “Hey!” he says to TJ. “So, don’t freak out.”

TJ stops walking a few feet away, Mark following his lead. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Ryan insists with a scoff. He shuffles closer and bounces the bundle in his arms. “It’s just, like. It was just _there_ when I woke up.” He holds the mothbaby away from his chest just enough for TJ to get a good look at it. “It’s real docile and sweet.”

“So far,” Shane says, earning a glare from Ryan.

“Is that.” TJ stops. “That’s not.” He stops again.

“I think it is,” Ryan supplies.

“No way,” Mark says.

“Yeah.”

TJ reaches out a slightly shaking hand and skirts his fingertips over the baby’s head. “It’s so fucking soft.”

“Don’t swear,” Ryan chides automatically. “Sorry.”

TJ snorts and when he speaks, his voice is thick with disbelief. “Right, of course.”

Ryan shoots a look over his shoulder as if to say _“See?”_ and Shane only rolls his eyes again.

“What’re we gonna do?” TJ asks.

“I’m gonna try and take it on the plane with us.”

TJ nods along though he looks skeptical. “We don’t have, like. Paperwork. We could call it a service animal?”

“What kind of animal would we even say it is?” Shane interrupts, striding forward with harsh, quick steps. “Ah, yes, here’s my service moth? He screeches a lot and could possibly send this plane hurtling into another dimension!”

Silence blooms after Shane’s outburst, and Ryan meets TJ’s baffled gaze.

“He’s in a mood,” Ryan says, unable to keep the bitter tinge from his voice. He ignores Shane at his side. “And I dunno. I was just gonna wing it and if they wouldn’t let me take it on, then I’ll just drive back, or something.”

“Okay.” TJ’s still nodding, and something like relief settles over Ryan’s thudding heart. “We can just drive back, yeah.”

Ryan expects another complaint from Shane at the thought of road-tripping it back to LA, but when he looks at Shane, the other man is only pursing his lips. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“Whatever,” Shane says. He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Can we just go? This episode is gonna be a nightmare to edit.”

Ryan starts at the thought of editing the footage. “Oh, shit.”

Shane snorts. “Yeah.”

It takes a little extra effort to get stuff loaded into the car since Ryan’s hands are full of the mothbaby and he refuses to pass it off or set it down. Part of him worries it’ll just fly away if he lets it go—even though he’s not sure the thing can even fly at all right now—and another part of him thinks it’ll just vanish the second he takes his eyes off it. So he holds it close and shoulders the lighter bags and staggers his way back to the car with Shane leading the way, still stiff and sour and grating on Ryan’s nerves.

The whole drive out of the forest and toward the airport, Ryan frets. He sits in the backseat with the mothbaby in his arms. It’s sleeping, letting out soft coos every other breath. It doesn’t look exactly like a moth, Ryan thinks as he stares at it. It’s almost cartoonish in appearance, really, and painfully adorable. Ryan’s sure that fully grown, this thing could probably wreck him, but for now…

Ryan shrugs mostly to himself. To his left, Shane’s watching him but pretending to be enthralled with whatever’s on his phone. Ryan doesn’t call him on it; he doesn’t really feel like talking to Shane at all, to be honest. Worrying over the little fuzzy thing in his arms takes up enough of his brain power he almost can’t muster the energy to be annoyed. Almost, but not quite. He’s got enough energy to at least give Shane the cold shoulder.

It turns out Ryan needn’t have worried. The minute they roll into the airport and try to get through security, the man scanning tickets looks down at the mothbaby before nodding.

“Cute kid,” he says. “Love ‘em when they’re that age.” He scans their tickets and checks their IDs with a glazed look in his eye, and then they’re off. They make it through security with as few hiccups as they’ve ever had, and it’s only as they’re skirting past one of the agents with a grumpy expression that Ryan catches the mothbaby’s eyes glowing.

They all fall into seats at the gate in a daze.

“Did that just happen?” Shane asks.

Ryan nods. “I think so.” He smiles down at the baby to find it staring up at him. “Good job, kiddo.”

“Oh god,” Shane says miserably. He slouches forward and holds his head in his hands. “Oh my god.”

TJ claps Ryan on the shoulder. “I’m gonna grab some Starbucks, you want anything?”

“My usual,” Ryan says; then, with a glance at the shining red eyes, he adds, “and some ice water? I dunno what this thing needs but I think it’d be thirsty.”

TJ nods.

“At least TJ’s being cool about this,” Ryan says to no one in particular, though he knows Shane hears him. Mark covers up his laugh with an inelegant cough. Shane shakes his head, still in his hands. “We got this in the bag, don’t we, kiddo?”

The mothbaby squeaks and flops forward to slap its face against Ryan’s chest before sitting back.

“It’s so cute,” Ryan says in awe. “I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s so cute.” Ryan swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. The mothbaby blinks at him. “I hope I don’t screw this up, little guy. I think your dad is counting on me.”

“Jesus, Ryan,” Shane mutters.

“Shut up, Shane.”

TJ eventually returns with the drinks and the mothbaby squeaks when presented with the cup of water. Ryan’s not sure exactly what happens, but one second he’s got the lid off the cup and the next, the cup is entirely empty and the mothbaby looks far too pleased.

“I’m so gonna screw this up,” Ryan declares confidently. “I’m gonna screw this up, and Mothman is gonna hunt me down.” Before he can spiral down that train of thought, the mothbaby wriggles in his arms and snuggles closer to his chest; it immediately soothes his worries, if only a little bit.

Waiting for boarding to start passes in the same way. TJ gets water twice more and anyone who walks near them compliments Ryan on how cute his baby is. He’s not one hundred percent sure what they see, but he assumes it’s an appropriately cute and chubby baby in place of the otherworldly being occupying his arms. No one asks a lot of questions, at least, and Ryan is pretty sure that’s also the mothbaby’s doing.

Shane doesn’t speak to him again until they’re seated on the plane, carry-on bags stored above and at their feet.

“Listen,” Shane says, very intently not looking at the mothbaby. “I’m sorry.”

Ryan waits.

Shane sighs. “I just…it’s not every day that you wake up and find an eldritch being sitting on your best friend’s chest. It kinda freaked me out, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan allows. “But you were seriously a major jerk.”

“I know. My worldview was just…sort of shaken. It’s insane, you gotta admit.”

“It’s totally insane,” Ryan agrees with a laugh. “But, I mean. We couldn’t just leave it there.”

“No, I know. That was fucked up.” Shane shrugs. “I just, I was freaking out.”

“Okay.” Ryan strokes his fingers over the mothbaby’s head. “So, you gonna be chill, now?”

“I’m gonna try. You’ve been really chill this whole time, I’m impressed.”

“I’m freaking out inside,” Ryan admits. “I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s not like I can just google how to raise a baby, cuz it’s not a _normal_ baby.” Ryan rakes a hand through his hair. “And, like, what if we _weren’t_ supposed to take it? What if Mothman comes for me?”

Shane’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. “Hey, hey, no, c’mon, you were doing such a good job of not freaking out.”

“I told you man, it’s all internal right now. I don’t want the little guy to pick up on it.” Despite the panicked thudding of his heart, Ryan smiles when the mothbaby nuzzles against the hand still stroking its fur. “Like, it’s pretty cool, right? It’s exciting. But I’m also _so_ unprepared. I kinda want to call my mom and ask for advice.”

“That’d go great.” Shane pitches his voice in a terrible approximation of Ryan’s voice. He brings his hand to his ear and speaks into an imaginary phone. “Uh, hey, mom? How do you take care of a mothbaby? What? Oh, yeah, yeah, a mothbaby.”

Ryan wheezes, but stops short when he hears a soft, creaky noise coming from his lap. The mothbaby’s eyes are turned on Shane and it’s heaving with the noise it makes, a pleased sort of—

“Is it wheezing?” Shane asks. “Is it _already_ taking after you? It hasn’t even been six hours!”

The mothbaby squeaks, and Ryan snickers. “I’m a good role model, how dare you.”

Shane shakes his head. “I can’t believe this is your life now.”

Ryan sinks into his seat and the mothbaby’s eyes turn back to him. “Me neither.” He flashes a grin at Shane. “Thanks.”

Shane’s cheeks pink and his expression turns sheepish. “No problem. Sorry, again.”

The flight passes quickly, which is also crazy to think about, but Ryan’s not about to look a gift moth in the mouth. They get out of LAX faster than Ryan’s ever managed before, and the Uber almost beats them to the curb.

“You want me to go home with you?” Shane asks as they load Ryan’s things into the trunk. “Just, as like a helping hand?”

Ryan looks down at the mothbaby. “No, I think, I think we’re good. I’ll text you if we need anything.”

Shane nods and claps a hand on Ryan’s shoulder again. “Okay. Uh. Take care. See you Monday, otherwise?”

“Yep, as long as Mothman hasn’t busted into my house to kill me for taking his child.” Ryan shoots Shane another smile and lets out a laugh at the unamused expression staring back. “Dude, I’m kidding. Chill.”

Shane sighs. “Just. Call me, okay? Or text me. Let me know you’re alive and that Mothman _hasn’t_ come to kill you.”

“Got it.” Ryan shoos Shane away then. He clambers into the back of the Uber and the driver twists around long enough to say “Oh, cute kid,” before starting to drive. Traffic is remarkably scarce for a Saturday evening on the 405, and they make it to Ryan’s apartment in record time. Ryan even manages to convince the Uber driver to help him carry his suitcases upstairs, although he does make it a point to leave a hefty tip on the app once he’s inside.

“Okay, little dude.” Ryan immediately goes to his couch. “How ya feeling?”

A squeak is his answer, and Ryan bites back a sigh.

“We gotta figure out a real way to communicate. Are you hungry?” Ryan asks.

The mothbaby blinks owlishly at him.

Ryan hesitates for a moment before rubbing at his stomach with one hand and repeating, “Hungry?”

Another squeak with a flutter of its tiny wings.

“What do moths even eat?” Ryan asks himself before scrambling for his phone. “Hang in there, dude. We’ll get this.”

The third squeak feels like a vote of confidence. Ryan bites his lip as he scrolls through Google and tries not to feel disheartened.

“I don’t have any, uh, nectar on hand. Maybe some water and leaves?” No response, and Ryan sighs. “I think there might be some leaves outside, would that work?”

A gentle screech.

“Right,” Ryan says as if he understands. “Do you wanna hang here while I go get stuff, or…?” Again, no response other than wide red eyes staring at him. Ryan sets the mothbaby aside without issue, but as he stands, a low growl starts and Ryan scrambles to scoop the baby back into his arms. “Okay, nope, you can come with me, that’s fine, that’s chill.”

The mothbaby presses its face against Ryan’s neck and lets out a contented sigh.

“Yeah, that’s it, little dude. That’s better.” Ryan’s glad, if nothing else, that he didn’t change into pajamas. The last thing he needs is to be wandering around in the early evening with a mothbaby in his arms, looking for the tastiest-looking leaves, in PJs patterned with ghosts or something. Ryan keeps his head low as he hurries back outside, confident in the knowledge that at least the mothbaby will seem like a regular baby to anyone else who might pass by.

“What about this one?” Ryan asks as he bends and picks up a large, orange-green leaf. The mothbaby stares at it and then between one blink and the next the leaf is gone and the mothbaby’s eyes are drooping. “Yeah, was that a good one?” Ryan asks, unable to curb his delight.

A shrill, delighted chirp answers him and Ryan takes a moment to pump his fist triumphantly.

“Hell yeah,” Ryan mutters as he crouches and starts to gather several leaves into his arms. He should’ve brought a bag, but a few should tide the mothbaby over until Ryan can scavenge for more, maybe with both hands free. “I can totally do this. _We_ can totally do this, kiddo.”

Another chirp, and a fuzzy face nuzzling against his cheek.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan murmurs with a half-laugh. “Too cute. Holy fuck.”

Ryan gathers a large handful of leaves in the crook of his free arm before hurrying back to his front door and slipping inside. “Okay, let’s grab some water, and then we’ll get some food for me, too.” He sets the leaves on his coffee table and keeps the mothbaby balanced in one arm as he wanders to his kitchen. He fills up two glasses from the tap, snags a bag of chips from his pantry, and then he’s back on the couch with only minor spillage.

“Okay, little dude.” Ryan leaves the glasses of water on the table too, and sets his chips aside for now. He sets the mothbaby in his lap. “Want another leaf?”

A chirp and the mothbaby bounces in his lap.

“Cool, cool.” Ryan holds the baby steady as he reaches to the coffee table and snags a burnt orange leaf. He holds it up, same as before, but nothing happens. “No good?” He asks, but when he blinks, the leaf is gone. “Alright…” He shrugs it off—if the mothbaby needs Ryan to not be looking when it eats, that’s fine. “Just as long as you’re, like, _actually_ eating. None of that pushing broccoli around your plate shit. Stuff.”

The mothbaby blinks and, somehow, manages to look insulted.

“Sorry,” Ryan allows, reaching for another leaf. He feeds it leaves one by one, blinking each time, until the pile is gone. Then, he grabs one of the glasses of water. That’s gone between one second and the next, too, and the mothbaby lets out a pleased trill. “Good, uh. Good kid? Good boy? Jesus, what are you anyway? Do interdimensional beings even have genders?”

The mothbaby’s eyes droop and it falls forward and rests its face against Ryan’s stomach. It’s not a helpful answer, but it _is_ adorable, and Ryan accepts it. He carefully grabs his own chips and opens them as slowly as possible so as not to wake the mothbaby, and manages to burn through the whole bag of chips before he can stop himself.

Ryan maneuvers his phone from his pocket without jostling the creature in his lap and checks the time—and is actually surprised to see a handful of texts from Shane.

**_You get home safe?_ **

**_Haven’t been carried off yet?_ **

**_You alive?_ **

Ryan rolls his eyes and taps the call icon.

_“Ryan.”_

“Dude, it’s barely been an hour since I saw you.”

_“That’s not true. It’s been an hour and fifteen minutes.”_

“Semantics,” Ryan says. “You’re really that worried?”

 _“No.”_ A pause, a shaky inhale. _“Maybe. We don’t know what this thing is, or what it’s capable of. I’m allowed to be worried about you taking some unknown creature home.”_

“It’s Mothman’s kid, it’s not exactly unknown. I already figured out what it eats!” Ryan declares triumphantly. “I got this parenting thing in the bag.”

Shane sighs on the other end of the line.

“Seriously, you gotta stop worrying.”

 _“I know,”_ Shane says, voice sharp and annoyed—but like he’s annoyed with himself, rather than Ryan, or the mothbaby. _“I know.”_

Ryan shakes his head. “I’ll text you tomorrow but don’t freak out if it takes a while, okay? I’m gonna try and learn about the little guy, see what other sort of, like, care he needs, and stuff.”

 _“And stuff,”_ Shane agrees. _“Okay. Just, call me, if you need something.”_

“I know, I will. Thanks, big guy.” They say their goodnights and Ryan tosses his phone aside after he hangs up. The mothbaby still sleeps soundly in his lap. “Think it’s safe to have you sleep in my bed?”

A soft, breathy sound is his answer, something that almost sounds like snoring except a million times sweeter.

Ryan pats the mothbaby’s back. “Yeah, it’ll be fine.” He finishes off his own glass of water before scooping the baby into his arms. He pads into his bedroom and sets the still-sleeping baby on his pillow before rushing to change into his pajamas. He’s not sure if it was just the prospect of him leaving the mothbaby alone in the room or if it’s separation in general that makes the little thing wig out. Ryan’s not taking any chances.

He strips down to his boxers and crawls under the covers; it’s still kind of early, especially for him. He could take the time to edit the footage from Virginia or figure out what he’s going to do about his newly acquired dependent, but all he really wants to do is sleep. He gently scoots the mothbaby off his pillow and under the covers with him, leaving a large enough gap for it to breathe if need be. Ryan lays his head on the pillow and sighs.

“What’s this all about, huh?” He asks, trailing his fingertips down the baby’s back. “What’s your dad up to?”

Another snore is the only response he gets. Ryan smiles to himself and puts the worry out of his mind for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just watch,” Ryan says aloud. “We’re gonna show him, aren’t we?”
> 
> The mothbaby wriggles in its sweatshirt wrappings and chirps.
> 
> “Hell yeah.”

Ryan wakes up the next morning to his alarm going off, loud enough that he can hear it even from his bedroom. He rubs at his eyes and looks around blearily, blinking rapidly when he realizes he slept with his contacts in. He groans and rolls out of bed and makes a sloppy, staggering beeline for his phone that’s still sitting on the couch. He grabs it off the cushion, turns off the alarm, and turns on his heel to head back to his bedroom when the screeching starts.

Ryan’s off like a shot, instinct overriding anything else, and he’s back in the bedroom feeling frantic in a matter of seconds. Finally, his eyes fall to the bed where the mothbaby has rolled onto its back, screaming, though Ryan still can’t see a mouth or anything. Its eyes are scrunched shut and Ryan’s heart skips a beat painfully at the sight.

“Hey, hey, hey, kiddo, it’s okay. I’m here.” Ryan climbs into the bed and reaches for the baby. His hand skirts over the baby’s stomach and the crying stops in an instant. “That’s it, just me. I’m here.” He rubs the mothbaby’s stomach gently and after a few minutes, the red eyes open wide. “There we go.”

A trilling noise, sounding like a reprimand, and Ryan apologizes with a laugh.

“I know, I forgot, sorry.” He keeps rubbing the mothbaby’s tummy and its eyes start to grow heavy. “Go back to sleep, it’s okay.” He settles against the headboard of his bed with one hand staying on the baby’s stomach. He brushes his hands through the fuzz as he looks down at his phone.

Unsurprisingly, there are more texts from Shane—it’s not even nine in the morning yet, he’s _really_ going off the deep end about this whole thing. Surprisingly, however, the texts are a far cry different from yesterday’s.

**_Maybe it’s not a mothbaby_ **

**_I was sleepy, you woke me up by screaming. It was just the first thing that came to mind_ **

**_It’s probably a raccoon._ **

**_Or like, some weird hybrid. But a normal, totally scientifically probable one._ **

**_I hope it hasn’t killed you in your sleep_ **

Ryan stares at the messages until the words start to blur. He somehow manages to tap out a message and doesn’t realize he’s hit ‘send’ until after the fact.

**_dude. fuck you._ **

Ryan puts his phone on do not disturb and tosses it onto his bedside table; the clattering noise wakes the mothbaby, who kicks at Ryan’s hand for a second before settling.

“Hey, little dude,” Ryan says softly. The big red eyes blink at him. “How’d you sleep?”

 _Chirp_.

Ryan nods. “Cool. You hungry?”

The mothbaby rolls from side to side before going still and Ryan stares.

“Is that, was that a ‘no?’”

One blink.

“Oh, well. Okay. Great. Look at us, getting somewhere with conversation!” Ryan tickles his fingertips against the mothbaby’s tummy until its wings start to flap. “C’mere, can I pick you up?”

It takes a moment, and it’s kind of hilarious to watch, but the mothbaby rolls onto its side before getting onto its inky black, shaky legs, and toddling over to topple into Ryan’s lap. Ryan’s hands hover around it, but he lets the mothbaby sort itself out until it’s sitting up in Ryan’s lap, wings settling at its sides, and staring up at him.

“Good job,” Ryan says. He pats its head. “You’re totally a mothbaby, huh? Shane’s just being his usual skeptic self. He’ll come around.”

Ryan’s heart beats hollowly at the thought of Shane never coming around. The idea that Shane might think Ryan’s losing it, or the idea that Shane might staunchly refuse to believe what’s right in front of him…it unsettles Ryan. It makes his heart sort of ache, in a way that rings of betrayal and disappointment and, just a little bit, of fear. It’s not like Ryan’s ever thought about getting an interdimensional baby creature dumped in his lap, but if he were to tinker with the idea—he’d always picture Shane at his side.

Ryan sighs but breaks into a grin as the mothbaby nuzzles at his hand. “Thanks, little dude.”

A soft screech and another nuzzle.

For a few minutes, Ryan sits there, hand pressed to soft gray fur, until he feels more even-keeled. Then, an idea strikes him—

“I should get, like, baby stuff, huh?” He looks down at the mothbaby, who’s gone back to dozing softly, almost like a cat might. “Like, a carrier, and a stroller. Sh—stuff like that.”

A few slow blinks are all he gets, but it’s good enough for Ryan.

“Maybe some toys?” Ryan says as he gently shifts the mothbaby over to his pillow, where it seems content to sit and watch Ryan even as he gets up from the bed. “You don’t need a bottle and stuff, but other baby things. Yeah.” Ryan nods to himself as he digs around for clothes to wear.

Once he’s dressed and has the mothbaby swaddled in a sweatshirt, Ryan reaches for his phone again. He considers taking if off do not disturb, but the thought of more texts from Shane just sets his teeth on edge.

“Just watch,” Ryan says aloud. “We’re gonna show him, aren’t we?”

The mothbaby wriggles in its sweatshirt wrappings and chirps.

“Hell yeah.”

 

Ryan opts for calling an uber since he doesn’t have a car seat—he makes a mental note to pick one up—and it’s almost an identical repeat of the day before. The driver nods to Ryan, lingers on the mothbaby for a split second before declaring, “Cute kid,” and that’s that. The drive is again mercifully quick, and Ryan tries not to get used to the feeling of speeding through LA, of making every light and avoiding all traffic, but it’s hard not to relish it. It takes less than twenty minutes for the driver to pull up in front of the address Ryan gave.

Ryan stands in front of the so-called “baby boutique” and steels himself. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s do this.” Ryan takes a deep breath and steps forward, pushing the glass door open with one hand and cradling the mothbaby with the other.

“Hello!” A chipper sales associate zeroes in on him immediately, and her eyes flit down to the mothbaby. “Aw!” she cries. “He’s adorable!”

“Heh, thanks,” Ryan says awkwardly. “Uh, he’s, I’m just—I need some supplies.”

“Of course!” The girl’s eyes meet Ryan’s. “What did you have in mind?”

“Uh, a carrier, a stroller, a car seat…toys, and, and stuff like that.”

The girl nods intently. “Of course!” she says again. “Right this way, let’s grab you a cart and get started!”

Ryan follows the salesgirl in a daze. He sets the mothbaby in the seat behind the handle and gets a delighted screech for his troubles. The salesgirl just laughs and smiles down at the mothbaby before looking away. She rattles off the latest and greatest in baby supplies, and Ryan listens with a spinning head.

“So!” she says eventually, turning to Ryan, seeming entirely unaware of his gobsmacked expression. “Any questions?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ryan replies on autopilot. “I’ll come find you if I do.”

The salesgirl nods. “Sounds good! I’m Trish, if you need anything.” She hurries away between the aisles and Ryan’s left standing in the middle of the store alone.

“This is kinda overwhelming,” Ryan mutters. He reaches for his phone and stares at the black screen. “Maybe Shane would know?”

The mothbaby chirps and even though it’s the same expression Ryan’s seen a hundred times in the past day and a half, he still feels like the baby is disappointed in him.

“Why would Shane know?” Ryan says agreeably. “S’not like he has kids.” With that, Ryan unlocks his phone and ignores his messaging app in favor of pulling up Google instead. Searching “most important baby supplies” is surprisingly fruitful, and Ryan tackles the list one bullet at a time.

“We don’t need bottles or a breast pump,” Ryan mumbles, cheeks tinging pink. “Or diapers, right?”

The mothbaby rocks from side to side, which Ryan thinks is its best attempt at a ‘no.’

“How about a crib?” Ryan thinks back to the mothbaby sharing his bed and sleeping on his pillow. “I think you’re okay to share, huh?” He reaches out and pets the mothbaby, and it nuzzles against his palm. “Swaddle blankets, that’s a definite yes.”

Despite the overwhelming nature of the store and how out of his depth Ryan feels, navigating the endless aisles isn’t quite as daunting as he anticipated. He finds the blankets in no time, followed by the car seat, burp cloths (although, Ryan thinks, if the mothbaby’s burps are as supernatural as the rest of it, terrycloth probably won’t protect Ryan’s clothes), a Moby Wrap, _and_ a Babybjörn carrier. The pile in his cart grows and he can’t bring himself to worry all that much about cost, not when he watches the mothbaby look around with red eyes wide in wonderment.

He stashes a stroller in the cart and is about ready to call it a day when he sees the section for clothes, and his eyes zero in on a perfect, tiny, purple and yellow monstrosity. The mothbaby chirps wildly as he makes a beeline for the clothes and he immediately yanks the toddler sized Lakers jersey off the rack.

“What do you think, little dude?” Ryan asks as he holds up the jersey beside the mothbaby.

An enthusiastic screech that only Ryan can hear has him splitting into a grin.

“You’re gonna look so freaking cute.” Ryan tosses the jersey into the cart and turns back to the selection. Then, after a moment’s thought, he scoops the mothbaby from the cart and turns it to face the clothing too. “You pick some stuff. You don’t need a lot, but it’d be good just in case, I think.”

The mothbaby wriggles in his arms and flaps a wing towards the end of the aisle, and Ryan shuffles along until the mothbaby is going absolutely nuts in his arms. Ryan bites his cheek.

“You sure, kiddo?”

A chirp, another flap of its wings, and Ryan sighs.

“What baby wants, baby gets,” he says inanely, under his breath, as he reaches for the toddler-sized red and black flannel. He tosses it into the cart and makes a few more rounds in the clothing section. He knows he said, only a few minutes prior, that the baby didn’t need _that_ much clothing, but Ryan just can’t stop himself.

By the time he makes it up to the counter, his cart is more of a mound and his wallet throbs in his pocket.

“Would you like help bagging your items, sir?” the same salesgirl, Trisha, asks. Ryan nods and starts to load things onto the counter after he’s set the mothbaby in the seat of the cart again. It takes him a moment to notice—he’s a little busy fretting over costs and how he’s supposed to get this all back to his place—but he realizes the salesgirl isn’t scanning anything.

“Hey,” Ryan says, and Trish looks at him so does the mothbaby. “Knock it off,” Ryan hisses. The mothbaby blinks, and suddenly Trish laughs.

“Oh, god, I must be so in my head. I totally didn’t scan some of this stuff!” she announces as she starts to unbag things. “Let’s try that again.”

Ryan braces himself as the register chimes and chimes and he unloads and unloads. Once the last item is bagged and it’s all back in the cart, Ryan sucks in a sharp breath.

“You’re in luck!” Trish says. “You came in on a crazy good sale day.”

Ryan looks around; there aren’t any signs, and he knows Trish didn’t mention a sale earlier, but… Ryan looks down at the mothbaby who, impossibly, seems to raise a nonexistent eyebrow at him.

“Great,” Ryan says. “What an awesome coincidence.” He barely hears the total but he knows it’s _far_ less than it ought to be. It keeps his wallet from weeping, at least, and when the mothbaby blinks earnestly at him, Ryan can’t bring himself to feel all that bad.

Once everything is paid for and Ryan’s standing outside with a cart overloaded with baby things, he realizes the error of his ways. He should’ve driven here. He doesn’t want to be a jerk loading a million bags into a stranger’s car. He thumbs at his phone in his pocket and taps his foot anxiously.

“I’ll call Teej,” he announces.

The mothbaby rocks forward and backward, which Ryan thinks means ‘yes.’

TJ picks up on the second ring. _“You’re alive.”_

“Yes?”

_“Shane’s losing his shit.”_

Ryan shakes his head. “I put him on DND cuz I was tired of him being a dick.”

 _“Understandable,”_ TJ says. _“What’s up?”_

“I need a ride. I took an uber to the baby store but I bought way too much shit.”

TJ hums. _“Okay, it’ll take a bit, traffic is probably awful.”_

Ryan hesitates and looks at the mothbaby. It blinks, and if Ryan didn’t know better, he’d say the thing looks innocent. “I don’t think traffic is gonna be a problem for you.”

 _“Whatever you say,”_ TJ says easily. _“Text me the address. Be there as soon as I can.”_

They hang up and Ryan pushes the cart aside. He fires off a quick text to TJ with the address before pocketing his phone again. He leans against the wall outside the baby boutique and stares at the mothbaby.

“What am I doing?” Ryan asks. “Mothman is gonna come get you and then I’m gonna have all this baby stuff just lying around.”

The baby blinks.

“I don’t even want like, actual kids yet. And by the time I do, this stuff will probably be like, super out of date. Do baby things go out of date?”

The mothbaby offers no answers.

“I like you, little dude, but you’re sure throwing a wrench into my life, huh? Why’d your dad pick me, anyway?”

It flaps its wings and Ryan scoops it up out of the cart seat. It tucks against his chest and goes to sleep.

“Same,” Ryan says with a sigh. “Same, kiddo.”

They stay like that, leaning against the wall, until TJ’s familiar car rolls up. Ryan lets out a breath of relief at the slightly banged up gray exterior, and when TJ climbs out of the car, Ryan says, “Thought you might send Shane instead.”

“Jesus Christ,” TJ says with a gesture to the heaping cart full of supplies. “And don’t think I didn’t consider it. He’s been up my ass all day about the baby.”

“He’s a dick,” Ryan says confidently. He shifts the mothbaby to one arm and pushes the cart closer to TJ’s car. “Thanks for doing this.”

“It’s all good. How’s he doing?” TJ briefly smiles at the mothbaby, who blinks back, before starting to load things into the trunk.

“Good! I dunno if it’s actually a he, though, so.”

“You can’t call the baby an _it_. That’s not good for their self-esteem.”

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t think I’m allowed to name it. It’s not _actually_ my kid.”

TJ pauses and once again, sweeps his arm out in a gesture to the haul from the baby boutique. “You sure about that, Ryan?”

Ryan flips him the middle finger out of the mothbaby’s line of sight. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“I know,” TJ says. He holds up his hands in a display of surrender. “I think it’ll be good for you.”

“Whatever, dude,” Ryan says, even as he grins. They load as much as they can into the trunk and shove the rest into the backseat, and then Ryan clambers into the front seat with the mothbaby in his lap.

“I don’t think that’s technically safe,” TJ says as he reaches for the keys.

“It’ll be fine. I mostly got the car seat so I can drive myself places again.” Ryan shifts the mothbaby around so it can look out the window to his right, which it does with avid attention.

They drive in silence for a few minutes, once again hitting minimal traffic, before TJ speaks again.

“You should talk to Shane.”

“He’s been a dick,” Ryan says again. “Like, I’m not expecting him to help or anything.” Ryan’s ears burn. “I just—how can he deny what’s right in front of him?”

TJ shrugs and flips on his blinker. “He’s a man of many talents,” he says with a crooked smile. “Give him a chance.”

Ryan shakes his head again, mostly to himself. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

TJ stares sidelong at him before turning his attention back to the road. “Alright.”

 

Ryan sets the mothbaby on the couch beside the piles of clothes and blankets, while he himself sits on the floor with the boxes holding the car seat, the stroller, and the Babybjörn. He opens the Babybjörn first and plucks the instructions from the depths of the box.

“Looks easy enough, right?” Ryan asks. The mothbaby rocks back and forth, something that’s becoming common very fast, and Ryan beams. “Cool. You wanna come to work with me?” More rocking, with a brief flap of its wings. Ryan nods and sets the Babybjörn aside and tosses the box out of his way to be collected later.

The stroller is next. It’s a small, flimsy thing. He’d considered springing for one of the really nice ones, with the little cover and the cushy, padded seating. But the mothbaby clearly prefers to be held over anything else, so it seemed like a waste. The stroller he bought almost looks like it’s for a doll or something, but he figures it’ll serve its purpose well enough. He unfolds it and rolls it briefly across his carpet to test the wheels.

“What’d you think?” Ryan asks, pushing the stroller out of the way.

The mothbaby flaps its wings but nothing else, and Ryan shrugs.

“It’ll come in handy,” he says. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you in it for long,” he promises, getting a chirp in response.

Then, the car seat. He pulls out the manual first and reads over the beginning carefully. “This looks… easy enough,” he says. He gets to the part about clicking the right buckles to keep the baby as secure as possible and sets the book down. He twists on the floor to fully face the mothbaby. “Dude? Need you to listen right now, okay?”

The mothbaby rocks forward and its fur brushes Ryan’s nose before it falls back onto its behind.

“Great.” Ryan’s nose tickles. “So, the car seat.” He nods to the box just behind him. “You’re gonna have to sit in the backseat, okay? I know it’s not your favorite, but it’ll keep you safer.”

The mothbaby blinks.

Ryan sighs. “I just wanna keep you safe, you get that, right? Your dad probably wants you to be safe as possible, huh?” Another blink, and Ryan sits back. He scrubs a hand over his face and when he speaks again it’s mostly to himself—another thing that’s becoming frighteningly common. “Who am I kidding? You’re some kind of interdimensional being. Why would a car seat keep you safe? You could probably just teleport out of an accident before it even happens!”

Ryan tilts his head back and stares at his popcorn ceiling. “What am I doing?” he asks, not for the first time. Something tells him it won’t be the last time he asks, either. He rubs at his eyes and when he turns to reach for the car seat, he finds the whole thing unpacked, put together, and with the mothbaby strapped inside.

“Uh.”

 _Chirp_.

“Right,” Ryan says. “You did that all by yourself?”

The car seat rocks with the mothbaby’s flapping wings.

“Great, good job.” Ryan scoots closer, still on his knees, and grabs for the manual at the same time. He runs through the instructions and when he’s sure everything checks out, he sits back. “So, you’re cool with this, yeah? No screeching in the car at unholy volumes?”

Another chirp and more rocking.

“Okay, then. Great,” Ryan says again. “Thanks, kiddo.”

The car seat buckles undo themselves and then the mothbaby stands. Ryan reaches for it immediately and scoops it up before it can go toppling out of the car seat.

“Careful,” he chides gently, sitting back against the couch with the mothbaby in his arms. “I don’t think you can fly yet, even if you _can_ teleport.”

The mothbaby plants its face against Ryan’s chest and rubs at the fabric of his sweatshirt. It’s warm and gentle and Ryan rests his hand on the mothbaby’s back and starts to stroke in slow circles.

“You really do need a name, huh?”

The mothbaby continues to rub; idly, Ryan wonders if it’s scenting him, like a cat or a dog or something. He shrugs.

Ryan hums to himself. “I’ll think of something,” he assures. “Something _great_.”

The mothbaby nuzzles one last time against his chest before an unfamiliar rumbling sound reaches Ryan; it vibrates against his chest, breathy and toneless. Ryan stares down at the mothbaby. He’s pretty sure it isn’t sleeping (it’s slept _so much_ already today, more sleep seems a little excessive, plus how will the little dude sleep tonight if it keeps napping—)

It makes a snuffling noise, rubs a wing against its face, and the rumbling sound continues. It clicks suddenly for Ryan, particularly as an image of Obi enters his thoughts.

_Purring._

“Can moths even purr?” he asks the emptiness of his apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m still not sure Indy isn’t at least a little dangerous,” Shane murmurs, finally tearing his eyes away from the mothbaby to look at Ryan instead. “But I will admit I was maybe a little hasty in jumping to conclusions regarding this.”

Ryan sets the car seat in the back of his car the next morning and blinks, knowing that when he opens his eyes, the mothbaby will be in the seat, buckled exactly as the instructions say. The baby chirps at him softly, and Ryan smiles down at it.

“Good job,” he says; he read on Google the night prior that positive reinforcement is important. He sets the Babybjörn and his duffle bag full of blankets on the seat beside the mothbaby and then shuts the door to the backseat. He hurries around his car to slide into the driver’s seat and checks over his shoulder that the mothbaby is still fine.

Earnest, even blinks answer him.

“Awesome. We’re gonna do this.” He faces his steering wheel again and pushes the key into the ignition. As the car roars to life, he checks over his shoulder again. “You sure you’re good?”

The mothbaby rocks back and forth.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Ryan puts the car into reverse, but before he takes his foot off the brake, he looks in the rearview mirror, where red eyes meet his. “We don’t have to do this.”

A chirp, then a screech, followed by a pretty rapid flap of its wings.

“Okay! Okay!” Ryan slowly backs out of the spot. “Sue me for being cautious.”

Ryan hears the flap of its wings again, and shakes his head.

“Brat,” he mutters affectionately.

The traffic to work is a little more like what he’s used to, but still nowhere near as bad as he’d usually expect. He only gets cut off twice and only has one close call with a fender bender. The rest of the ride is smooth sailing, and his favorite parking spot—the one under a larger tree, one that gets good shade and is usually safe from other cars parking too close—is open. Ryan whips into the spot a little too fast, worried about someone taking the spot.

He gets out of the car and comes around to the backseat. He straps on the Babybjörn while the mothbaby unbuckles itself when Ryan’s back is turned.

“C’mere,” Ryan says, unnecessarily, since the mothbaby is all too happy to be in his arms, wings flapping and rapid, quiet chirps falling from its nonexistent mouth. Ryan sets the mothbaby in the Babybjörn, checks that it’s secure, and then grabs his bag of blankets—and some leaves in ziplock baggies, just to be safe—and swings it over his shoulder.

“Ready, little dude?”

A warm, fuzzy faceplant against his chest is the answer.

Ryan walks into the Buzzfeed building as confidently as he can. He doesn’t run into anyone on the first floor, or the elevator, but Steven is right outside the elevator on the second floor.

Steven’s eyes widen. “You _do_ have a mothbaby.”

Ryan looks down at the baby, aghast. “Dude! You didn’t hide your form!”

“Everyone’s already heard,” Steven says.

“How?” Ryan asks, his free arm wrapping protectively around the mothbaby.

“One of the interns spilled when they looked through your footage, I guess? Shane reported them, said it wasn’t their business.” Steven shrugs. “Can I pet it?”

Ryan looks down at the mothbaby, but it’s already struggling to shove its head closer to Steven. “Yeah, sure, just be quick.”

Steven’s hand glides over the top of the mothbaby’s head and he breaks into a grin. “So cute,” he half-whispers in a voice Ryan would normally find sort of irritating, but he can’t help but agree.

“Right?” Ryan sidesteps Steven. “I gotta go,” he says, almost apologetic.

“No worries, Shane’s waiting for you anyway.”

Ryan swallows a groan. “Great.” He waves off Steven’s confused expression and hurries away from the elevator. He keeps his head down aside from awkward smiles and even more awkward waves as he practically springs through the bullpen. After what feels like an eternity, he makes it to his desk, and he’s relieved to see Shane facing his own computer with his headphones on.

Ryan goes to sit but stops short when he sees the basket in his chair. When he looks up, Shane’s attention is very suddenly on him instead.

(Uncannily, it reminds Ryan of the mothbaby.)

“Uh,” Ryan starts.

“TJ told me I was being a jerk,” Shane says, just loud enough for Ryan to hear. “He said the mothbaby is really cute and well-behaved and that I need to pull my head out of my, er.” Shane’s gaze flicks to the baby. “My butt,” he finishes, a little lamely.

Ryan stares. He knows he’s staring and he knows his mouth is hanging open, but that doesn’t mean he can make himself stop. “You—what?”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says with a considerable amount of feeling. Which isn’t to say the guy’s a robot the rest of the time, he’s just especially impassioned when he says “I’m sorry,” a few more times.

“You’re sorry,” Ryan says flatly.

“I overreacted,” Shane replies. “I told you, this is kind of rocking my world, right? So.” Shane sits back and twiddles his thumbs. “TJ said you were picking up baby stuff, and I didn’t know what you got or what you might still need, so…” He gestures to the basket.

Ryan lets his dufflebag of things drop to the ground; he picks the basket up from his seat and sets it on the desk before falling into his chair with a soft _oomph_. “Let’s see what presents you got, little dude,” Ryan says quietly.

The mothbaby squirms in the Babybjörn until it somehow, impossibly, manages to twist around so it can very clearly see the basket on the desk. Ryan’s all too conscious of Shane’s eyes on him, but he ignores it for now as he pulls away the cellophane wrapping holding everything inside the basket.

On the very top is a small beanie cap for the Lakers: it’s purple with one yellow and two white stripes, and a tri-colored pompom on top.

“Oh,” Ryan says, thumbing over the soft fabric. “This is gonna go really cute with its jersey.”

“You got it a _jersey?”_ Shane asks. Ryan doesn’t even have a chance to shoot him a look before Shane says, “Who am I kidding, of course you did.”

Ryan bites his lip on a smile. He sets the hat aside and takes out the next gift. “A collar?”

“I wasn’t sure!” Shane says.

“It’s not a _dog_.”

“I wasn’t sure what angle you were gonna go for, pet or child. I figured I’d cover all grounds.” Shane reaches around him and pulls out a leash, too. “Better safe than sorry.”

Ryan takes the leash from him and sets it aside with the collar. “You’re an idiot,” he says, unable to keep his fond tone completely under wraps. He reaches into the basket again and comes away with a book on moths. “Oh.”

“I thought, I mean. I know it’s an, an interdimensional being, or whatever. But maybe it’ll help?”

Ryan nods. “I mean, I’ve just been googling shi— _stuff_ about moths, so.” He waggles the book. “This should definitely help, yeah.”

Ryan actually chokes on his laugh when he pulls out the next gift. “Dude.” He finally chances a look at Shane and is relieved to see the other man smiling. “ _Dude_.”

“I can’t believe you hadn’t already bought it yourself,” Shane says cockily.

Ryan holds out the little shirt that says _I’d flex, but I like this shirt_ in Comic Sans. “It’s perfect,” Ryan says, maybe a little too seriously.

Shane leans into his space with a wider grin. “I’m glad you like ‘em.”

There are a few other shirts in the basket, although none of them tickle Ryan’s fancy quite as much as the first. Some are in basic colors, some are striped, and one has a butterfly on the front, which feels weird but the mothbaby chirps happily at it, so Ryan doesn’t say anything.

“These…” Ryan bites his lip again. “Thanks, Shane.”

“You’re stuck with it for the foreseeable future,” Shane says, as if it’s totally normal, as if it’s just a _thing_ they do, buying baby clothes and stuff for an infant cryptid. “Might as well have some fun, right?”

Ryan strokes the top of the mothbaby’s head. “Right.”

Shane leans his elbow on the desk and holds his chin in his palm as he looks at Ryan. “So, does it have a name yet?”

“I was thinking Kobe,” Ryan says, even though he already vetoed that name the night before when he couldn’t fall asleep.

“Ryan, _no_.”

Ryan snorts. “Your face, oh my god.”

“Shut up, you _would_.” Shane punches him lightly on the arm. He hums and taps a finger against his chin. “What about—?”

“If you say Tom Cruise, I’m gonna sick the mothbaby on you. That’s not gender neutral enough, anyway.”

Shane snickers. “Fine, fine.”

“We’ll think of something,” Ryan says. He only realizes what he’s said after it’s too late to take the words back. He looks at Shane, sideways, to see him nodding.

“We will,” Shane agrees.

The mothbaby chirps.

Shane turns away then and grabs at his headphones; before Ryan does the same, he reaches for the dufflebag at his feet, and murmurs to the mothbaby.

“Want a toy?” he asks quietly.

The mothbaby squirms in the Babybjörn so Ryan digs around in the bag before pulling out a small, round, rattling toy. He won’t be able to hear it with his headphones on and he’s not sure anyone else will hear it thanks to the mothbaby’s magic.

“This one okay?”

The toy lifts from his hand and floats in front of the mothbaby’s face. It shakes the toy in the air, using its _mind_ , Ryan realizes, chirping when the toy rattles. Ryan watches for a moment, keenly aware of the endeared expression plastered across his face, before settling in to pull up a project.

“I got started on editing the footage from Point Pleasant,” Shane says suddenly.

Ryan, headphones poised partway to his head, turns to look at Shane, who’s got one ear uncovered. “Yeah?”

Shane nods. “An intern started on it, and that’s why everyone knows—?”

“Steven mentioned that.”

“Yeah, so I took over, uh. Not sure what you wanted to do with the morning after footage so I just worked on us traipsing around the woods.”

“Thanks.” Ryan drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I dunno either, honestly… I feel like we should talk to HR? I don’t think Mothman would appreciate me plastering his baby all over the internet…” Ryan pats at the mothbaby’s head as it continues rattling its toy. “I mean, it’s easy enough to cut around it.”

“Yeah. I haven’t looked at the overnight footage, so I dunno what we’ll see.” Shane shrugs. “Can’t imagine Mothman would show himself on camera, he’s sneakier than that.”

Ryan shakes his head with a faint laugh. “You say that like you know the guy.” Ryan hooks his headphones around his neck and pulls up his email. “We’ll just cut anything suspicious, and maybe go to HR and see if we can get an email sent out about keeping quiet about the mothbaby.”

“Solid plan,” Shane agrees. “I’ll email HR to set up an appointment. You gonna get going on editing?”

Ryan nods and he opens his mouth to say something but before he can, there’s a faint pop and then a soft, trilling chirp. His gaze drops to the mothbaby at the same time Shane looks down. The toy is gone and the mothbaby looks at once mischievous and disappointed.

“Kiddo, what did you do?” Ryan asks. He scoots back from his desk but the toy isn’t on the floor. “Did you—Did you make the toy disappear?”

The mothbaby blinks.

“No,” Ryan says, swallowing the urge to laugh and forcing out a firm tone. “Bring it back.”

“Ryan—?”

“No, I paid money for that because it wanted the toy, it can’t just make the toy vanish when it feels like it.” To the mothbaby directly, Ryan says, “If you want to stop playing with the toy you tell me and I’ll put it away.”

The mothbaby chirps and Ryan shakes his head.

“Now, kiddo,” he says as sternly as he can possibly manage.

Another soft _pop_ and the toy is on Ryan’s desk.

“Thank you,” Ryan says as he picks up the toy and drops it back into the dufflebag. “Did you want a different toy?” He asks.

The mothbaby twists from side to side, a confined sort of ‘no.’

“Just let me know when you need something, okay?” He gets a slow blink before turning back to his computer; from the corner of his eye, he watches Shane watching him. “What?”

“You’re just…” Shane swallows; his Adam’s apple bobs. “You’re a natural, Ry.”

A flush of pride sweeps over Ryan. “Oh. Thanks.”

Shane grins. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Hey!”

 

The day passes surprisingly easily. Every so often, Ryan reaches into the dufflebag for a new toy—although sometimes the mothbaby grabs a toy on its own, with its powers, and every time Ryan is a little unsettled—but other than that, it’s a shockingly normal day. Ryan edits all the footage of them walking through the woods and finds nothing of note (save for what _might_ be red glowing eyes in the background of a few shots, but he thinks that might just be wishful thinking.) People stop by but barely comment on the mothbaby, even though plenty of them stare openly. Ryan almost works straight through lunch except Shane distracts him with a burrito from Chipotle just in time.

By the end of the day, Ryan’s eyes are tired and the mothbaby has eaten through all the leaves Ryan brought, and they’ve got a meeting scheduled with HR for the following morning.

Ryan looks up from his last-minute tweaks to their intro footage—they’ve yet to film the outro, what with the whole accidental baby acquisition—when Shane stands from his desk. “Heading home?”

“Thinking about it,” Shane replies. “Unless, uh, you maybe wanna do a movie night, or something?”

Ryan blinks. “Uh, sure?” Not that it’s unusual for them to hang out, or do movie nights, or whatever, but something about Shane’s uncertainty makes Ryan unsure in turn. “You know you’re forgiven, right?”

Shane startles. “What?”

“You’re forgiven,” Ryan says again. “For being a jerk. You got the baby neat gifts, and, y’know, you don’t seem like you’re gonna backslide into being a dick, so.”

“That’s not—I just—you don’t have to do this alone.” Shane says it in a rush and he leans in a little closer. “Like, it’s _our_ show, right?”

“Right.”

“So, I mean, it’s not _our_ baby, it’s not even _your_ baby, but.” Shane stands up straight, then says louder, “I wanna help. Like, _actually_ help.”

Ryan stares up at Shane. “Oh. Uh.”

“So like, movie night,” Shane says again, the change in course almost sudden. “We can like, co-parent, or whatever.”

“Or whatever.”

“You’re dead on your feet and you’re not even standing,” Shane says as he reaches past Ryan to tap “command” and “s” on the keyboard to save Ryan’s project. “Let’s go home.”

Ryan’s heart leaps in his chest and the mothbaby chirps.

“We can brainstorm some names,” Ryan says as he stands, cupping an arm under the Babybjörn unnecessarily.

“Yeah, see? Great idea.” Shane claps him on the shoulder. “Can I just catch a ride with you? I Uber’d in.”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, of course. We can grab food on the way?”

“Let’s do this,” Shane says confidently. He reaches down and scoops up the dufflebag and the basket he brought. “Let’s co-parent the shit outta this kid.”

“ _Swearing_ ,” Ryan chides.  

They leave the office laughing.

 

They pick up pizza on the way home and within minutes of getting through the door, they’re sprawled on the couch with some low-budget Netflix horror movie on Ryan’s TV screen. Ryan sets the mothbaby on a throw pillow between them before pulling a paper plate loaded with slices of pizza into his lap.

“Does he need food, or something?”

“I’ve got some leaves in the pantry if it gets hungry. It usually lets me know.” Ryan stares at the baby as the baby stares at him. “I’m not even sure it _needs_ to eat, but it likes to, so.”

“I feel bad calling it… _it_.”

“Dude, same. But naming things is so hard. It’s not a pet, it’s like naming a real person. That’s some serious stuff.” Ryan says all of this around a hefty mouthful of pizza, which maybe lessens the seriousness of his words, but Shane nods like he said something sage.

“What about…” Shane starts, and Ryan braces himself. “Hunt? Hunter?”

“We’re not naming it after Tom Cruise’s character in _Mission Impossible_ ,” Ryan replies immediately.

Shane rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“Those are stupid names, anyway,” Ryan assures. “Maybe just Junior?”

“That’s so boring.”

They both fall quiet as they eat and the movie plays on, unwatched and unheard. Ryan’s staring dimly at the screen when the thought comes to him.

“What about Kernel?”

Shane stops, mid-chew. “What?”

“Like, y’know, popcorn!” Ryan can feel excitement simmering in his gut. “That’s cute, right? And gender neutral, and, like, on-brand. My little popcorn Kernel!”

“That’s redundant, Ryan. Kernels are already little.”

Ryan narrows his eyes at Shane. “Shut up.”

“How about Lepidoptera?”

Ryan chokes on his next bite of pizza. “What? Was that even English?”

“Latin,” Shane corrects. “It’s the Latin name for moths, the order they belong to.”

“That’s way too long.” Ryan looks down at the mothbaby. “What do you think, little dude?”

The baby flaps its wings and shakes from side to side.

“That means no,” Ryan says.

“What about Leppy, then? _Short_ for Lepidoptera?”

“Shane, no.”

“ _Yes_.”

“No,” Ryan says again, firmer. “That’s final.”

“ _I’m_ gonna call it Leppy, then. It’ll be my nickname for the kid.”

Ryan can’t help but grin. “That’s so lame,” he says far too fondly. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Ryan!” Shane cries, aghast. “Did you just _swear_ in front of the child?”

Through his laughter, Ryan can’t manage to choke out a “no.” Eventually he settles on, “Fine, if you’re gonna nickname it Leppy, then _my_ nickname for it is Kernel.”

The mothbaby screeches and rocks back and forth, wings flapping rapidly.

“I think it likes both our nicknames,” Shane says triumphantly. “But we still need, like, a regular name.”

Ryan sets his empty plate aside and reaches out a free hand to pat the mothbaby’s head. “What’cha think?”

No response other than enthusiastic nuzzling against Ryan’s palm. Ryan and Shane both watch the baby nuzzle, eagerly, until it nuzzles too hard and tips onto its side. Shane laughs as Ryan helps the mothbaby right itself; once seated, it gives an embarrassed flap of its wings before falling still.

“What about Indy?” Shane says suddenly. Ryan looks up away from the baby.

“For…Indiana Jones? I know I dressed like the guy, but—?”

“Not, not exactly. I mean, that’s kinda cool too. But I was thinking more cuz of Indrid Cold, to be honest.”

Ryan blinks. “Oh, dude. I love that.” He looks down at the mothbaby again and asks, “What about Indy, huh?”

A shrill, sharp, but distinctly delighted screech is the answer; Ryan beams at Shane.

“You did it, big guy.”

Shane grins back, hesitant at first but splitting wider, happier, almost disbelieving. “Yeah?”

Ryan nods. “So, did you just happen to look up Indrid Cold recently, or…?”

“Just thought it might come up when we went to Point Pleasant again. Then we—you adopted a cryptid baby, and now we’re here.”

Ryan snickers. He ignores the flip of his heart at Shane’s slip-up. “Well, your research came in handy. Didn’t it, Indy?”

The mothbaby rocks forward excitedly and Ryan throws a hand out to keep it from toppling off the front of the couch.

“Excitable, huh?” Shane says.

“You have no idea.” Ryan finally gives in and scoops up Indy, even though he’s had the mothbaby in his arms practically all day. “Very determined, this one, huh?” Ryan can’t help his grin. “It can teleport, too!”

“Yeah?”

Ryan nods. “You wanna show Shane?” Ryan asks Indy, dipping his head to meet the red-eyed gaze directly.

The answer comes in the form of Indy disappearing from Ryan’s arms and reappearing on Shane’s lap in the blink of an eye. Shane inhales sharply and his hands immediately come to hover beside Indy, holding it but not actually touching its fuzzy sides. Ryan bites his tongue on a soft laugh; the hesitant, startled look on Shane’s face is almost as precious as Indy staring up at Shane with the familiar, wide-eyed expression Ryan’s come to adore the past three days.

“You could pick it up,” Ryan says. “Indy loves to be held.”

Slowly and carefully, Shane cups the mothbaby by the sides and scoops it up, holding it arm’s-length away before bringing Indy in to cradle against his chest. Indy happily rests on its back in Shane’s arms to stare up at Shane, blinking.

“That’s it,” Ryan says quietly. Slowly, he reaches for his phone shoved deep in his jeans’ pocket. While Shane and Indy stare at each other, enamored, Ryan pulls up his camera and makes sure the flash is off. He snaps a few pics, including one where Shane’s dipped his head lower to brush his nose over the top of Indy’s head, before pocketing his phone again.

“I’m still not sure Indy isn’t at least a little dangerous,” Shane murmurs, finally tearing his eyes away from the mothbaby to look at Ryan instead. “But I will admit I was maybe a little hasty in jumping to conclusions regarding this.”

Ryan scoots closer on the couch and reaches out a hand to comb over Indy’s fuzzy head. “It’s okay,” he says for what feels like the dozenth time. “You were just being logical.”

“Screw logic,” Shane says.

Ryan ducks his head to hide his grin.

“I should probably get going soon,” Shane admits after a few more silent but easy moments of him just holding Indy, with Ryan almost close enough for their knees to bump. “You okay with Indy all night?”

“Done it twice already,” Ryan reminds. He reaches out and takes Indy from Shane’s arms carefully. The mothbaby barely stirs; the only indication it’s disturbed at all is the antennae on its head flicking sharply. Shane takes his phone from his pocket and pulls up his Uber app.

Ryan continues. “Indy sleeps like the dead, unless I leave the room too long.”

“Wait, really?”

Ryan nods. “I tried to go outside alone the first night, to get some leaves? And Indy started screeching, like, _bad_. And then when I left the bed to get my phone yesterday, Indy woke up while I was gone and flipped out.”

“Pretty attached,” Shane says.

“Yeah.” Ryan shrugs. “Probably scared.”

“If you ever need a babysitter,” Shane adds. “I could, y’know, take a night. If Indy would be okay with it, I mean. We can test it. Maybe Indy just wants to be around people, right? Maybe it’s not just a you-thing.”

Ryan tilts his head. “Yeah, we could try, sometime. I don’t know if I’ll really need it… It’s kind of nice having someone, you know?”

“I know,” Shane replies. His hand is gentle when it lands on Ryan’s shoulder. “I meant what I said, though. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Thanks.” Ryan yawns.

“That’s my queue to go,” Shane says with a faint laugh. He rises and stretches, his bones cracking and popping all the while.

“See you first thing in the morning for that meeting?”

“Bright and early, baby!” Shane bends down long enough to skirt his fingers over Indy’s belly, and then he’s moving to the door. “Message me if you need anything, okay?”

“Get home safe, you big lug.” Ryan stands while keeping Indy close to his chest. Shane waves at him as he slips out of Ryan’s apartment, and then they’re alone. “How was that, Indy? You like hanging with Shane?”

A soft trill devolves into the familiar sound of Indy’s snores. Ryan nods and turns off the television before heading toward his bedroom.

“Me too, Indy. Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both watch, breath bated, as Indy raises one leg in the air and promptly topples from the throw pillow onto the couch cushion beneath it, face first. “Oh, Indy.”

Ryan wakes to Indy lying face down on his chest, wings spread across Ryan’s pectorals; it’s a new one (Indy’s been very good about staying on the pillow Ryan sets aside for it) but the rumbling snores warm Ryan’s chest as they vibrate through him. It’s sweet and tender and Ryan doesn’t want to get up. Carefully, he reaches out his left arm to his bedside table to grab at his phone. He turns on the front-facing camera and, even though his eyes aren’t even totally open, snaps a quick pic.

Without thinking, he sends it to Shane.

**_do we have to come in to work today?_ **

He tosses his phone to the bed and lays a hand over Indy’s back. “Kiddo,” he mumbles. “Time to get up.”

One of Indy’s wings slaps against Ryan’s bare chest before settling.

“Gonna take that as a no,” Ryan says. He cups one arm against Indy’s back as he sits up. Gently, he rearranges so that Indy ends in Ryan’s spot, where the covers are warmed from his body heat. Ryan slips out of bed and waits a beat, then two, and when Indy keeps on sleeping, Ryan shuffles over to his closet.

He’s dressed and slightly less groggy when his phone chimes. Indy doesn’t stir.

**_Jesus Fucking Christ._ **

**_Never show the internet that picture. It may just actually implode._ **

Ryan snorts and shakes his head.

**_Whatever._ **

Shane’s reply is immediate.

**_I’m serious. The internet couldn’t handle that much cute mixed w/ that much bare chest._ **

Ryan’s ears flush and he sends back the middle finger emoji a few times before shoving his phone in his back pocket. He looks over to Indy, who’s still sleeping soundly.

“As much as I’d love to let you sleep, it’s time to get up,” he says again, reaching out and plucking Indy from the bed. He sets the mothbaby on its rear on the bed. “You with me? You can sleep in the car. Hell, you can sleep all day if you wanna.”

A gentle, tired flap of wings before Indy falls onto its back.

“Jesus, kid.” Ryan scoops it up and hurries to the dufflebag, abandoned by the door. He rummages around in the bag long enough to make sure he has everything—a handful of leaves, a couple of the swaddling blankets, several toys—before grabbing the Babybjörn off the coffee table, where he left it the night before. Indy sleeps away, tucked against his chest, and Ryan shakes his head fondly.

He resolves to grab coffee on the way to work (he’d have to set Indy down to use his Keurig, and Ryan doesn’t want to risk waking the fuzzy lump) and then he’s out the door. In a repeat of the morning before, Ryan tosses the dufflebag into the backseat and sets Indy into the car seat, watching as the buckles do themselves up yet again.

 

He gets into work right on time, as opposed to his slightly late entry yesterday, and makes it to his desk without interruption. Shane’s already standing and waiting for him, ready for their meeting with HR.

“Ready?” Shane asks.

Ryan nods. “Yep.” He hitches the dufflebag higher on his shoulder.

“You bringing that?”

“Just in case Indy wakes up during the meeting and needs a toy, or something.”

“Okay, well, here.” Shane holds out a hand, and Ryan stares. “Let me carry it, dummy. You’ve got Indy. You don’t need to carry both.”

Ryan passes the dufflebag over and holds an arm against the Babybjörn, something that’s become an innate reaction even though he knows Indy is perfectly secure in the holder. “Thanks, man.”

Shane hikes the bag onto his own shoulder, swaying slightly from the weight. “Jesus, did Indy start playing with rocks, or something? What’s _in_ here?”

Ryan kicks Shane in the shin before they leave their desks. The trek to HR feels ominous, unsettling, and Ryan rubs his thumb anxiously over the hem of the Babybjörn, at a place where he can just barely feel Indy’s fur. It soothes him, as do the gentle sounds of Indy sleeping. Shane seems relaxed as they trudge to the elevator, up two floors, and to the small boardroom.

“You good?” Shane asks before they step inside.

“Yeah. Don’t even know why I’m nervous,” Ryan says with an embarrassed laugh.

“It’s your parental instincts,” Shane says sagely. “Mama Bear mode. Mama Moth.” Then, with exaggerated emphasis on the first half of the word, “ _Moth_ er.”

“I hate you,” Ryan snaps without heat, his chest already feeling lighter. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

The meeting goes smoothly; HR agrees to send out an email with some details about the situation, with a request that everyone in the LA office respond to the attached legal document with their digital signature. From there, Shane and Ryan agree to take a brief hiatus from investigating, until they figure out what to do with Indy when they’re filming. Ryan hates the idea of putting the season on hold, nevermind that it won’t start airing for several weeks, but there’s really no other choice.

Indy nuzzling against his chest and Shane’s hand on his shoulder help, at least.

Ryan walks out of the meeting feeling impossibly exhausted.

“Go back to the desks,” Shane tells him. “I gotta grab something.” Shane scritches at Indy’s head, garnering a delighted chirp, and then he’s gone.

“How you holding up?” Ryan asks a few minutes later as he sits at his desk. He looks down at Indy for an answer, only to find the baby on his desk instead. He’d been so deep in his thoughts about the season and filming, he hadn’t even noticed the absence of weight and warmth.

“Indy, no,” he says, even as he’s sort of impressed. “You want out of the Björn, you just gotta ask, okay?”

Indy flaps its wings and Ryan shakes his head. He peels off the Babybjörn and shoves it into the dufflebag that he dropped at his feet once he sat down, then pulls out a handful of toys. He sets them in front of Indy before logging into his computer.

Indy takes to the toys immediately, something Ryan watches from the corner of his eye. None of them are choking hazards (at least, not for regular babies, so hopefully not for mothbabies) and they’re all bright and make some sort of not-too-annoying noise.

Indy is still playing when Shane returns with two large coffees and an even larger cookie; one coffee and the cookie end up by Ryan’s hand, wrapped around his mouse.

“Dude?”

“You looked like you needed it,” Shane says simply. “The meeting took a lot out of you.”

Ryan sighs. He holds the cookie in one hand and the coffee in the other. “I just hate that we have to stop filming.”

“We could always take Indy along.”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of making sure no one spills the beans,” Ryan counters.

“So we don’t have Indy on camera. We can see how Indy does with TJ, and maybe we just don’t spend the night anywhere, so that you don’t have to spend the night away from Indy.”

Ryan bites into the cookie as he thinks. A piece breaks off and floats over to Indy, and before Ryan can chide the baby, the cookie vanishes with a pop and a satisfied trill.

Shane laughs. “Is that a good cookie, Indy?”

Indy teleports into Shane’s lap by way of an answer and brings a toy along with it. The toy bobs leisurely in front of Indy’s face, and Shane reaches for it—when his fingers almost grasp the pink plastic, Indy zips the toy out of his grasp with a ruffle of its wings. Ryan watches until the cookie is gone and his coffee is half-finished, and then a little longer. It’s kind of addicting to watch someone else play with Indy.

Ryan’s known from the moment he stopped screaming in Point Pleasant that the little creature is cute, but seeing Indy play with Shane…just adds to that. Fills Ryan’s head up with thoughts he’s never had before, or at least never looked at so closely. Sure, he’s maybe considered wandering around parks or the city with Shane, when the light’s low and the setting is more…romantic. Maybe, once or twice or twelve times.

But he’s never thought of a kid in the mix, a stroller pushed in front of them or a kid winding around their legs as they walk.

As he watches Shane and Indy now, Ryan’s thoughts can’t stop themselves from shifting. For all Shane’s teasing of Ryan’s natural talent at taking care of Indy, Shane’s hardly slacking. He plays and laughs and even tickles at Indy’s sides, which gets a series of trills and chirps like Ryan’s yet to hear.

Ryan watches as Indy winds down, as the toy scatters to the ground and its wings droop. “Wanna pass Indy over? I’ll get the Björn again.”

“I can do it, if you want. Your back could probably use a break.”

“My back?” Ryan says, incredulous. He bends down and gathers the toy, dropping it on his desk. “You’re the one with the giraffe skeleton hiding in a human body.”

“Please, I think I can manage a few hours,” Shane says, although something like uncertainty sparks in his eyes.

Ryan shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. You tuckered it out, I’ll take Björn-duty.” He digs out the Babybjörn once more and straps himself into it before making grabby hands at Shane. “Pass ‘em over.”

Shane helps situate Indy in the Babybjörn before turning back to his desk. “Jesus, is that really the time?”

Ryan looks and isn’t totally surprised to see the clock working its way toward eleven. The meeting hadn’t taken long, but it’s easy to get lost in Indy (and Ryan is beginning to wonder if time passes differently when all your focus is on the mothbaby, like when you walk into a Target or a gas station on the side of an empty road.)

“Most of the Point Pleasant episode is finished, just need to cut through more of the night time stuff and then we’ll wanna do voice overs, but I think we can save that for tomorrow. The graphics team can handle the animations. Can you take the night footage? I wanna start compiling research for the episodes so they’re ready once we start to film.”

Shane nods. “Yeah, of course.”

The rest of the week passes in much the same fashion: Ryan wakes up, straps Indy to his chest, and goes about his job like normal. HR lets him and Shane know when all responses are back on the email, and at one point the intern who spilled the beans sheepishly approaches Ryan to apologize. He and Shane finish editing the Point Pleasant footage, and Ryan swaddles Indy up and holds the mothbaby in arms as they cram into the sound booth to do voice overs. Ryan spends all of Thursday cutting and trimming their voice overs and makes note of parts that will need to be redone, because of Indy’s trilling or chirping or snuffling that can be heard.

By the time Friday evening rolls around, Ryan feels more tired than he’s ever felt, including both college and that weird napping video he did. He’s not especially surprised when Shane joins him in the elevator and says, “Want me to come over?”

Ryan does, but also doesn’t. He wants to sleep for ten hours and wants to finish the Point Pleasant episode so he can stop thinking about Mothman for maybe five fucking minutes, and he wants to stuff his face with the unhealthiest food possible, but also he wants to go for a run, and—

“Dude, dude, dude.” Shane’s hands are on his shoulders and Ryan blinks.

“When did we get outside?” He asks, looking around the nearly empty parking lot.

“While you were ranting away.” Shane’s face is drawn in lines of concern. “You kinda scared me, dude. And Indy.”

“Oh, fuck.” His panic at the thought of Indy being scared overrides any sort of filter in his mind. Ryan looks down to see Indy’s eyes wide and shaking. “No, no, no, kiddo, it’s okay,” he coos softly. “Ryan’s fine!” He gestures to himself. “See? All fine!”

Indy blinks but its red eyes turn glassy and Ryan’s panic worsens.

“No, no, no, please don’t cry, don’t cry,” Ryan babbles. “You haven’t cried yet, please don’t cry, I don’t—?”

Ryan trails off as a sudden warmth envelopes him. He tries to look up but the top of his head connects gently with Shane’s chin.

“It’s okay,” Shane says, in a tone considerably calmer than Ryan’s own. “It’s okay, little dudes.” Shane’s hand rubs soothing circles along Ryan’s back. “It’s been a long week, huh?”

Ryan hesitates before muttering, “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you guys home.” Shane doesn’t move. “In a second, though. I think Indy needs a little longer.”

Ryan looks down again and is relieved to see the glassy wetness gone from the baby’s eyes. “Thanks,” Ryan says, swallowing the quiver in his voice. “Guess I didn’t realize how crazy this week has been.”

“I think that’s a normal parenting thing, dude. It had to happen sometime. I’m sure Indy understands.” Shane finally pulls away but doesn’t go far; he keeps his hands on Ryan’s biceps and squeezes. “How about I drive? I’ll come over so you can get to sleep early, maybe. I’ll watch Indy for a bit.”

Ryan nods, already feeling sleep calling his name. “Yeah, alright. If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure, Ry.” Shane keeps one hand on Ryan’s arm and guides him to the car. “Got your keys?”

Ryan passes them over without hesitation; he lets Shane take the dufflebag from him and toss it into the backseat. Reluctantly, Ryan sets Indy in the car seat and Shane lets out a quiet, impressed whistle when the seat buckles itself. Then Ryan practically falls into the passenger seat, while Shane crams himself into the driver’s side.

Ryan watches Shane fiddle with the seat controls for a few minutes. “I’m sorry.”

Shane looks up from trying to get the seat to move back. “Huh? For what?”

“For…” Ryan shrugs. “Dragging you into this?”

“Ryan, you didn’t drag me into anything. It’s not like you intentionally decided to nanny Mothman’s kid. It just, shit happens.”

“Swearing,” Ryan chides around a yawn.

“Right, sorry,” Shane says dismissively. “I’m just saying, I’m here cuz I wanna be. I’ve told you that.”

“I know, but, dude, you look ridiculous in my car.” Ryan gestures to where Shane’s still pretty cramped.

“Give me a few minutes,” Shane says. “Not my fault you drive a clown car.” Finally, Shane finds the right lever and the seat goes rocketing back. “Jesus. I’m driving you to work next week.”

“You never drive,” Ryan reminds him.

“I will if it means I don’t have to try and squeeze into your stupid car just so you don’t pass out on your way home.” Shane throws on his seatbelt and once Ryan has buckled up, he starts the car.

“I won’t _pass out_.”

 

Ryan wakes up when the car comes to a jerky halt. “Wha—?”

“You fell asleep,” Shane says to the tune of his seatbelt unclicking. “C’mon, I’ll grab Indy. You get upstairs.”

Ryan forces himself out of the car but doesn’t immediately head towards the door to his apartment building. He waits and watches as Shane collects Indy and the dufflebag from the backseat and then they trudge to the door together. The elevator ride up to Ryan’s floor is quiet, and Ryan feels a little better even though he couldn’t have napped longer than twenty minutes.

“Go sit,” Shane commands once Ryan lets them into his apartment. He sets Indy down on its favorite couch pillow at the opposite end of the couch from Ryan. “I’m gonna make something for dinner, and then you’re gonna go to sleep.”

“Shane—?”

Shane cuts him off with a dismissive sound. “No buts.”

Ryan falls back against the couch. “Okay.”

Shane grins at him and then disappears into the kitchen.

Ryan rests his eyes as he listens to the ambient sounds of Shane puttering around his kitchen. His cupboards are pretty bare so if Shane manages to find ingredients to throw together, it’ll be some kind of miracle. Ryan tilts his head back and sinks into the cushions of his couch; he strains one ear for Indy’s breathing, slow and soft and familiar, and he’s out like a light yet again.

He wakes this time to the scent of pasta and mushrooms, and opens his eyes to find Shane setting two bowls on the coffee table.

“Keep this up and you’re not gonna get any sleep at all tonight, baby or no baby.”

Ryan sits up slowly. “I didn’t even realize I was so tired. It’s not like Indy keeps me up at night, or anything. Kiddo sleeps like a dream.” Ryan scrubs a hand over his face then reaches for one of the bowls of pasta. “It’s just, like. Even knowing that I have Indy to take care of is exhausting. And then we have to reshoot so many voice overs, cuz Indy kept making noise, and it’s so cute, but man, it’s gonna be a pain.”

As if queued, Indy chirps, and Ryan peers around Shane to look at the mothbaby sitting up on the throw pillow.

“Not your fault,” Ryan assures, to which Indy chirps again and rises up on unsteady legs. Ryan’s breathing catches in his chest and Shane inhales sharply. They both watch, breath bated, as Indy raises one leg in the air and promptly topples from the throw pillow onto the couch cushion beneath it, face first. “Oh, Indy.”

Shane snorts and reaches over to pick Indy up and deposit it in his lap. “Good job,” he says. “You okay, buddy?”

Indy chirps and butts its head against Shane’s stomach.

“Yeah you are,” Shane says. “I fed it some leaves earlier so Indy should be good. Now it’s our turn. Bon appetit, Ryan!” Shane bends and scoops up his own bowl and fork. “You gotta grocery shop more, man, it’s not healthy.”

“I know, it’s just been…”

“A crazy week,” Shane finishes for him. “I get it, but still. You need someone to babysit Indy while you go run some errands, just call me up, okay? I don’t know how many times I gotta say it.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Ryan spears a bite of pasta and mushroom on his fork and chews it slowly. “I don’t _want_ to not be around Indy. I like taking care of the little dude.” Ryan starts to shovel food into his mouth, suddenly realizing how hungry he is. “I want to be with Indy.”

“Well, then…” Shane eats some of his own dinner. “How’s this. Tonight, you get some solid sleep. I’ll watch Indy, and if need be, we’ll sleep out here. Then, tomorrow, let’s just, go to the park or something. You can do some jogging and I’ll sit on a park bench and hold our little guy.”

Ryan’s heart skips a beat. “Okay,” he says. “You could always jog, too, you know. The Babybjörn is supposed to stand up to physical activity.”

“Ha,” Shane laughs dryly, “no thanks. The cardio is all for you, Bergara.” He finishes off his pasta quickly and sets his bowl aside before sinking into the couch. He falls back and leans against the arm of the couch and pulls Indy until the mothbaby is resting on his chest. “Pass me the remote?”

Ryan does before resuming eating. He stares at Shane more than the television, until his fork is hitting the bottom of the bowl and his eyes are starting to droop again. “You sure you wanna stay? Doesn’t Obi need you?”

Shane waves him off. “Nah, he’s a big boy, and I left plenty of dry food out. If nothing else, I’ll at least let you catch a couple hours of shut-eye. It’s not even eight yet, I’m a big boy, too. I can catch an uber home in a few hours if I really want to sleep in my own bed.” Shane looks away from the TV, now playing a repeat of _FRIENDS_ , and his eyes are soft. “Get some rest, Ry. We’ll be here.”

Ryan bites his bottom lip, then nods. “Yeah, okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For all you know, tomorrow could be a disaster,” Shane says, words slurred with sleep. “But you’re welcome.”

Ryan opens his eyes to find himself surrounded by the woods of Point Pleasant. It’s not immediately familiar--trees are trees, dirt is dirt, so on and so forth--but something in his brain tells him _Point Pleasant_ , so he agrees. He sits up slowly and feels his sleeping bag crinkle underneath him; he can’t hear it, but that’s not unusual for his dreams. Seldom can he hear stuff, even if his brain tells him sounds are happening.

Ryan looks around cautiously and bites back a curse when he sees red eyes staring at him from across the little clearing he’s camped out in. The rest of the figure is shrouded by trees and brush but the eyes are unmistakable.

“Hey,” Ryan says, his voice sounding watered down and dull inside his own head. It’s more like the voice that rattles around his thoughts than his normal speaking voice. Loud but with no volume. “Hey!” he tries again, and gets a blink in response. Unlike when Indy blinks at him, though, this isn’t slow and sweet and trusting. Just a movement, nothing more.

Ryan waits. Mothman stares. Ryan isn’t sure if he really expects the creature to say something. Maybe like, “good job raising my kid,” or “what the fuck are you doing,” or “hey, sorry about all this.” Something, _anything_ , maybe.

Ryan blinks and suddenly Mothman is gone from the brush. The hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck stand up as he looks over his shoulder. Even though he’s expecting it, he still startles when he sees Mothman standing at his left.

“Hey,” Ryan tries again. He looks up at the towering figure Mothman cuts, into his blood red eyes that seem so much more menacing than Indy’s. The furry antennae on top of Mothman’s head twitch.

Ryan waits. Mothman stares.

And then Ryan wakes up.

He wakes up in his bedroom, in the clothes he wore to work earlier, to the sounds of the television bleeding in through his slightly ajar bedroom door. Ryan throws off the comforter and pads his way back out to his living room without a second thought. Either a burglar is in his house and is catching up on the latest and greatest from the CW, or Shane left the TV on--and Ryan is pretty confident it’s the latter.

He peers out into the living room and hiccups around a gasp. Sure enough, Shane is right where Ryan left him when he finally marched off to bed a few hours earlier. Shane’s asleep, though, and so is Indy pillowed on Shane’s chest. The little fuzzy gray body is tucked close to Shane’s neck, and if Ryan’s strains his ears, he can hear their rhythmic breathing--Shane’s verging into a deep snore, and Indy’s light and raspy.

Ryan swallows and creeps into the living room. He turns off the TV and then hesitates; Indy is sleeping soundly and he’s reluctant to reach for the mothbaby and disturb this perfect picture. There’s a decent chance picking Indy up will wake the creature, which might mean screaming, which is just cruel to do to Shane.

Ryan thinks on his options as he slips back to his bedroom long enough to grab his phone. He comes back to the living room with the camera pulled up.

Shane’s eyes are almost open, but not quite. “You’re up,” he slurs.

Ryan’s almost disappointed that he missed the chance to snap a pic of Indy and Shane asleep together, but he decides this works just as well. He takes several pictures as Shane slowly wakes up, starting with his eyes drooping low, then opening, then Shane rubbing at his eyes with one hand--he keeps the other hand curled under Indy to keep the mothbaby from getting jostled.

“Yeah,” Ryan answers eventually. “Feeling way better.” He finally gives in and takes Indy from Shane’s chest so that Shane can sit up properly. “Dreamt about Mothman, though. It was weird.”

Shane stares blearily up at Ryan. “Did he tell you why he dumped Indy in your lap?”

“Nope. Just stared at me a whole bunch. Felt weirdly significant, but I have no idea why.”

Shane shakes his head as he stands, stretching as he goes. Ryan holds back a wince at the cracks and pops of Shane’s body waking up. Shane’s arms fall to his sides once he’s satisfied and he aims a sleepy grin at Ryan. “I’m gonna call an uber, okay? You good?”

“Yeah. You okay to get home?”

“Totally fine,” Shane says, yawning.

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Ryan asks in a rush. “We can, we can do some of the stuff you talked about tomorrow. Taking Indy to the park and stuff.”

Shane blinks. “You sure?”

“Yeah. C’mon, you can’t sleep on the couch. Now _you_ look dead on your feet.” Ryan reaches out and curls his fingers around the sleeve of Shane’s plaid shirt.

“I did fall asleep pretty much right after you went to bed. Indy’s like…I dunno.”

“Otherworldly?” Ryan says jokingly.

“Something like that,” Shane agrees, allowing Ryan to tug him along toward the bedroom.

“I’ve got some pajamas you can borrow, and there’s a toothbrush under the sink.” In the bedroom, Ryan sets Indy on his pillow long enough to dig out said pajamas and shove them into Shane’s waiting arms. Ryan watches Shane meander his way to the en suite and shut the door behind him.

When Ryan looks back at the bed, Indy’s watching him with one, knowing eye.

“Not a word,” Ryan whispers.

It isn’t as though Ryan’s forgotten about his less-than-platonic feelings for Shane. He’s just been a bit more preoccupied lately, what with taking care of Indy. But now the two things are being inextricably linked, and Ryan just knows it won’t bode well. Especially not with Indy looking at him like the little creature knows _all_.

“You sure this is okay?”

“You ask again, and I’m gonna smother you with a pillow,” Ryan says, pointedly forcing himself not to jump as Shane reenters the bedroom. Ryan snags his own pair of pajamas and nods at Indy. “Watch Indy?”

“Course,” Shane says as he falls into bed. His long limbs fling every-which-way as he climbs under the covers. Before they’re covered up by the blanket, Ryan can see Shane’s knobbly ankles sticking out from the too-short pajama pants Ryan gifted him with. His eyes are open even as his head hits the pillow, and his gaze is trained on Indy, resting on Ryan’s pillow.

Ryan ducks into the bathroom and changes quickly. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth. Already, sleep is pulling at him again. He really didn’t realize how much caring for Indy had taken out of him, but when he thinks back on his week, he can’t be totally shocked. Not even considering all the time spent gathering leaves and making sure no toy ever got left behind, driving with Indy in the backseat or jostling his way through the crowded office, Indy against his chest--all of it is just mentally exhausting.

Ryan spits and rinses his mouth with Listerine and keeps on thinking. Shane has been a big help, which is frightening; if Ryan’s this exhausted with someone helping him out, how bad would it be if Ryan really was doing this all on his own?

He shakes off the thought and bends to spit out the mouthwash a little earlier than he normally would. He wipes his mouth clean before making his way back to his bedroom.

Shane’s not quite asleep, but it’s clear he’s nearly there. Ryan slips under the covers carefully and rests his head on the corner of pillow not currently taken up by Indy.

“Thanks,” Ryan says suddenly. “For all your help this week. And today. And thanks for tomorrow, preemptively.”

“For all you know, tomorrow could be a disaster,” Shane says, words slurred with sleep. “But you’re welcome.”

Ryan wakes to Indy bouncing on his chest and the scent of bacon wafting through his open bedroom door. Despite both these things, Ryan wakes slowly; it feels like it takes him eons to open his eyes, and then decades longer to rub the sleepsand from the corners of his vision. He stretches his arms over his head and pushes his legs out, waking up his muscles as much as he can without sending Indy careening off his chest. Eventually, he sits up slowly and holds Indy to his chest as he goes. It’s then that he realizes the other side of his bed is empty.

Ryan hums, smacking his lips together and grimacing at the taste of morning breath. “Gee,” he mumbles. “Wonder where Shane is.”

Indy chirps and flaps its wings.

“Gonna brush my teeth first,” Ryan says as he staggers out of bed and into the en suite. He keeps Indy cradled in the crook of one arm as he goes about his morning ritual: brushing his teeth, attempting to brush his hair, giving himself a once-over in the mirror before deciding Shane’s not worth putting regular clothes on.

Ryan walks into the kitchen to find Shane bopping along to some song streaming from his phone. The pan on the stove sizzles, maybe with eggs or more bacon or _something_ that smells incredible. The oven’s on, too, and Ryan catches sight of a box of Bisquick on the counter, open and covered in dusty fingerprints.

“Morning,” Ryan says.

Shane turns to him, still singing, and grins. He turns back to the food immediately and sings along as he scrambles eggs in the pan, adds chopped up bits of bacon and veggies. It isn’t until the current song playing fades that Shane finally says something to Ryan.

“Morning!” he says, far too cheerfully. Ryan needs at _least_ one cup of coffee to get to this level of chipper. “Coffee’s still hot,” Shane says with a nod to the Keurig, beneath which a steaming cup sits.

Ryan ambles over to see the perfect medium brown staring back at him: a sure sign that his coffee is made precisely to his tastes. “Did you go grocery shopping?”

“Yep.” There’s a couple clicks as Shane turns off the burner, then the oven. “You seriously had _nothing_ in your house.”

“You even got the kind of creamer I like,” Ryan says after peeking in the fridge. He takes his coffee mug by the handle and takes a sip, sighing in delight. “Thanks, dude. I owe you.”

“I consider it an extension of helping take care of Indy.” Shane carries two plates, laden with scrambled eggs and bacon and veggies and pancakes, to Ryan’s miniscule dining table. “Speaking of, we should get Indy a high chair.”

Ryan snorts as he takes a seat at the table. “It’s not like it’s gonna eat at the table.” He sets Indy on a corner of unoccupied space and gestures. “Perfectly happy to hang out right there.”

Shane sits across from Ryan and points a fork accusingly. “You’re telling me that you’re not gonna worry about Indy falling off the edge of the table?”

Ryan pauses with a bite of eggs and bacon part way to his mouth.

“Indy does like to flap around,” Shane adds. He shovels food into his own mouth while Ryan scrambles for his phone. “We can pick one up today, chill. It’ll be easier than ordering it through Amazon.”

“I just can’t believe I forgot.” Ryan falls back into his chair, realizing he left his phone in the bedroom anyway. “I really didn’t think about it. Especially since I didn’t think about, like, ever eating at this dining room table.”

“It’s almost as if,” Shane drawls, “you bought this table for that _exact_ purpose.”

Ryan drops his fork onto his plate, holds one hand over Indy’s eyes, and flips Shane the bird with his free hand.

Shane snorts. “In front of the baby, Ryan, really?”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“So ungrateful,” Shane says, and Ryan watches him turn to Indy. He speaks directly to the mothbaby, who blinks at him now that Ryan’s taken back his hand. “I make him a great breakfast, make his coffee just the way he likes, and this is what I get? Can you believe it?”

Indy chirps and swirls its wings in wild, crazed circles; Shane tucks a hand against Indy’s back to keep it from doing just as he said earlier and falling off the table. Shane keeps his hand there, switching to eat with his left hand curled around the fork.

“So, park today?” Shane asks after a bit, once their plates are both nearly empty.

“Sure. Haven’t had a chance to bust out the stroller. It’s nothing fancy.”

“I’m sure it’s perfect. You’ll love it, huh, Indy?” Shane sets his fork down and uses his now free hand to tickle his long, slim fingers against Indy’s stomach. “You wanna get dressed first? Do some stretches? I can feed the little guy.”

Ryan swallows his last bite of egg and pancake and it goes down awkwardly, so his voice comes out as a wheeze (he’s totally blaming it on the breakfast food, no one can stop him.) “Sure.”

Ryan bounces from foot to foot, relishing the feel of his sneakers bouncing with him. He’s running through warm ups and workouts in his mind when Shane wanders out of his bedroom in the same clothes he wore yesterday, Indy in his arms.

“You look ridiculous,” Shane tells him after a blatant, amused up-and-down.

“It’ll keep em warm,” Ryan retorts, decidedly _not_ plucking at the leg of his long johns under his basketball shorts. “Shut up. Let’s go.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Like _you_ look any better.”

Shane laughs. “Whatever you say, little guy.”

When they get to the park, Ryan helps Shane situate Indy in the Moby Wrap--which Shane insisted on trying, since Ryan hadn’t had a chance to bust it out yet--before they meander into the park to find a bench. Shane practically falls into the hard, wooden seat and swings the dufflebag up to sit beside him; Ryan starts to jog in place to warm up.

“You sure you just wanna sit here?” Ryan asks. His breath comes out warm and misty in the cool air. “It’s gonna get cold.”

“I’m built for the cold, baby,” Shane says confidently. “I’ll keep Indy nice and warm, too. We got blankets in here, don’t we?” He asks, tugging at the strap of the dufflebag.

“Yeah, but. If you need to leave, or wanna go, or whatever.” Ryan cuts himself off and passes his car keys to Shane. “Just text me, and come back for me if you leave, okay?”

Shane nods and pockets the keys. “I got headphones and shows to binge,” he says as he drags his phone from his jacket, waggling it. “It’s plenty to keep me and Indy entertained. Now go, run and do whatever it is you do.”

Ryan rolls his eyes but takes off all the same; he sets off at a light jog just to feel the blood start pumping and picks up pace with each winding turn he rounds. He breathes carefully as the endorphins rush through him.

He doesn’t even mind that he left his headphones in the car--instead his head is filled with thoughts of Indy, and Shane, and how the two work so well together. Already, after just a night of Shane sticking with him, Ryan is feeling better. As he passes under an especially large tree, he wonders if he could convince Shane to stick around every weekend, or some nights during the week.

 _Shouldn’t be hard_ , he thinks. Shane seems enamored with Indy, now that he’s over his skeptic bullshit. It could even be fun, raising Indy properly--or as properly as two guys working for a major media company can raise an infant cryptid. Maybe it’s sort of strange, to ask your best friend to raise an interdimensional baby with you, Ryan wonders.

He decides, as he rounds the bend that’ll take him back to Indy and Shane and their park bench, he doesn’t really care if it’s strange. The whole thing is strange, what’s one more thing? Ryan slows as he gets closer to the park bench and smiles to himself at the sight in front of him:

Shane’s got Indy, now wrapped up in a blanket it seems, bouncing on his knee. It’s straight out of a Hallmark film, save for the whole mothbaby part, and Ryan trips over a crack in the sidewalk as Shane sees him. Shane snickers, something Ryan recognizes even from a distance, and nods at Indy.

Ryan nods back, approvingly, and when he finally comes to a stop beside the bench, Ryan says, “Looks like you two are having fun.”

Shane beams at him. “Oh yeah, it’s been a hoot. I was reading some news thing until Indy made my phone disappear, which I took to mean I wasn’t paying enough attention to it.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow down at Indy. “Did you get your phone back?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s in the car.” Shane shrugs.

“Shane, you can’t just let Indy get away with stuff like that!” Ryan sits on the other side of the dufflebag and stretches his legs out in front of him. “If we don’t set boundaries, Indy will think it can get away with anything!”

“Dude,” Shane says, laughing. “It’s fine, Indy’s not gonna grow up to be some problem child, or something.”

That sets Ryan off and he reaches out to punch Shane’s arm, lightly so as not to jar Indy still on Shane’s knee. “You don’t know that. What if we corrupt Indy and Mothman comes after us?”

“We’re not gonna _corrupt_ Indy.” Shane shakes his head. “Little dude’s just having a little fun.” Shane pats Indy’s head and the mothbaby chirps. “How was the run?”

Ryan lets the topic of Indy’s corruption go for the moment. “It was good.”

“You didn’t even bring your headphones, weren’t you bored?”

Ryan shakes his head. “Nah, I was just.” He falters. “Just thinking about Indy, really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, just like. Raising it, n’stuff like that.” Ryan shrugs and stares down at his hands.

“What’s with the whole ‘it’ thing, anyway?”

“Huh?”

Shane bounces Indy on his knee again. “You call Indy ‘it.’”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Ryan rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “I just, I dunno what Indy’s actual gender would be, y’know? How do we know it even has a gender at all?” Ryan shrugs again. “I dunno, just trying to be mindful.”

“Look at you,” Shane says, a note of approval in his voice. “That makes sense. Just kinda weird.” Shane picks Indy up then and holds the mothbaby at arm’s length. “I get it, though. Can’t really decide if it’s a boy or a girl anyhow.” Shane hums and makes a show of looking Indy over. “Do you think it’s gonna grow?”

“I dunno.” Ryan reaches out and brushes a hand over Indy’s head, mindful of its antennae. “I’m hoping if it does, it’s not like, a super growth spurt. I just bought all this baby stuff, if I wake up next week and Indy’s the size of a teenager, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Shane snorts. “Well, you saw how tall the Mothman statue was.”

“God, don’t remind me. Indy’s gonna be taking after you in no time, I bet.” The words are out before Ryan’s even finished the thought, and he tries not to let on how stricken he feels when he chances a glance at Shane. He’s expecting nonchalance, maybe, or a teasing word thrown back. What he gets is neither of those things.

Instead, Shane’s wearing a pleased little smile, aimed at Indy, and the tips of his ears are bright pink.

“So Indy’s got your wheezing, and my height, huh?” Shane asks quietly.

Ryan lets out a breathless giggle. “We’ll have to keep a tally. See who it takes after more.”

Shane nods. “I bet you’re a little nerd, huh?” Shane asks, in a not-quite-baby voice. “None of that sports stuff like the old Boogara, right? All about those books.”

Indy chirps and squirms in Shane’s hands.

“What’s up?” Shane asks, sitting back. “You hungry?”

Indy chirps again and flaps its wings. The right wing flaps especially energetically, and Shane “ah”s quietly.

“You want Ryan, huh?” Shane turns and holds out Indy. “C’mon, Ryan. I’ll start packing up.”

Ryan takes Indy and cradles it in one arm. “Hey, little dude,” he says quietly. He looks down at Indy for a second, smiling at the big red eyes peering back up at him, before watching Shane pack things back into the dufflebag. It’s just a couple blankets and some toys, so it doesn’t take long. Shane stands and swings the dufflebag over his shoulder, then holds out a hand to Ryan.

“Let’s grab coffee on the way back, yeah?”

“You want me to drop you off?” Ryan asks as he accepts Shane’s hand. He stumbles a bit as he stands and Shane’s other hand comes out and catches Ryan by the shoulder. Ryan inhales sharply as he thinks about how they look: Shane holding him, Indy cradled between them. Ryan shakes off the thought. “You probably wanna get home to Obi.”

“Why don’t you two come by?” Shane says. “We could see how Indy likes Obi.” Belatedly, Shane takes a step back and Ryan feels a little more and a little less like he can breathe again.

Ryan looks down at Indy, who seems to have no opinion either way. “I need to shower.”

“Shower at my place. I know you keep a spare change of clothes in your trunk.”

“I mean, yeah,” Ryan admits as they start walking back to the car. “You sure it’s no trouble? You’ve already helped a ton, man. If you need a break, it’s fine.”

“Nah, plus, I really wanna see how Indy and Obi get along.” Shane reaches the car first, probably because of his fucking long legs, and he pulls open the door to the backseat. “It’ll either be the cutest thing ever, or we’ll have to separate them. It’ll be good to know.”

Indy disappears from Ryan’s arms with a faint _pop_ and into the car seat, buckled up.

“True,” Ryan allows, motioning Shane closer so he can shove the blanket, now limp in his arms, into the dufflebag. “I mean, if we ran into a pet on the streets or something and Indy went crazy, that’d be bad.”

“Exactly!” Shane zips the dufflebag up and tosses it into the backseat once the blanket is stowed away. “It’s good research. Now let’s go, I want some coffee. And a bagel.”

A dazed look crosses Shane’s eyes and Ryan snorts. He shoves at Shane. “Get in the car, then,” he urges. “You’re buying, though.”

Shane lays a dramatic hand over his chest, leaning an arm on the roof of the car. “How unfair, Ryan. I slave away to help you raise your newfound child, and you make _me_ buy coffee?”

Ryan snorts and flips Shane off. “Get in the fucking car.”

“Indy can still hear you!” Shane crows, but he at least gets into the car. Ryan climbs into the driver’s seat and his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “Or not,” Shane says as he turns and looks at the backseat, where Indy’s evidently dozed off. Shane fumbles for his phone—it was sitting on the passenger seat, waiting for them—while Ryan starts up the car; he kills the radio and the only sound filling the car is Shane’s camera going off as he snaps a probably absurd number of pictures.

“I can’t stop,” Shane whispers as he snaps another one. “Is this how all parents feel?”

Ryan’s cheeks burn as he pulls out of the parking spot. “Probably.”

Shane finally sits properly in the seat and buckles up. “It’s kind of great.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees with a smile.

“Want me to send the pics to you? They’re pretty fuc—freaking cute.”

“Every picture of Indy is cute,” Ryan says. “But yeah, please. Send ‘em. Nice catch, by the way.”

Shane puffs out his chest proudly. “I can learn to Dad, too, Bergara. You haven't cornered the market on it.”

“You’re a natural,” Ryan says earnestly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan casts a glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something standing beside the bed.

Ryan spends most of his Monday morning not working, but instead looking at the pictures of Obi and Indy from the weekend.

The two had gotten on like a house on fire, to the point that for the first time in a while, Indy actually screeched when Ryan had decided it was time to go home. It had taken Ryan _and_ Shane cooing sweet little reassurances that Indy could see Obi again soon to get the mothbaby to stop crying, and by the end of it Ryan was almost ready to stay the night just to avoid any more tantrums. But the reassurances seemed to work, and Indy was nothing but sweet the whole drive home and went to sleep easily that night.

“Hey you two,” Shane says, startling Ryan from his thoughts. “You sleep well?” Shane asks as he deposits a mug of coffee on Ryan’s desk, right beside where Indy sits. He ruffles the fur on top of Indy’s head before moving to his own seat.

“Yeah, totally fine. Just had a lazy day yesterday.” Ryan smiles as he reaches for his coffee and his knuckles brush Indy’s side. Indy chirps and kicks gently at his hand, like a cat when you touch its tummy and it tries to attack you, but in that cute way. “Thanks for your help again, man.”

“No problemo,” Shane says easily. “Obi missed Indy, though. It was hell.”

“What, really?” Ryan asks.

“Kept meowing all day, all night, wouldn’t shut up. He misses his playmate.”

Indy perks up and flaps its wings, the motion scooting it across Ryan’s desk.

“Yeah, little dude! Your playmate missed you!”

Indy chirps, delighted.

“You gotta tell Ryan you need to come over again soon, right?” Shane asks Indy, almost conspiratory in his tone.

“Dude,” Ryan laughs. “It’s _your_ house, just invite us over, you lunatic.”

“Hey, you spent almost two whole days with me. You could be sick of me, for all I know. Sick of me encroaching on your Indy time.”

“Man, without you I probably would’ve lost my mind. And I’ve spent way longer than two days with you. If I was sick of you by now, you’d know it.”

Shane grins at him. “Great, wanna come over tonight? That new show just came out on Netflix, we could watch it.”

Ryan isn’t sure which show Shane’s talking about, but he doesn’t care. “Yeah, sounds good.”

That’s how a routine develops: not every night, but many nights, after work Ryan and Shane go home together to one of their places. They usually grab dinner on the way home, or sometimes Shane cooks; typically, they split one or two bowls of popcorn while they marathon whatever they can find. Shane starts them off with _The Haunting of Hill House_ , which Ryan admits is pretty good, and somehow Shane decides they have to alternate picking things to marathon. That’s how Ryan ropes Shane into watching _The Collector_ and _The Collection_ one after the other on a Wednesday night.

They hang out on weekends, too, sometimes for both days just because neither of them have anything else to do. Shane helps Ryan come up with excuses for not going to see his parents, as one week of mothbaby-parenting stretches into two, then three.

When Shane suggests just leaving Indy with him, so that Ryan can finally go see his parents, Ryan almost takes him up on it; but the thought of leaving Indy behind makes his heart clench painfully, and Shane lets it go.

So it’s their thing. The whole co-parenting business. It happens even at work, when Shane takes Indy so Ryan can run some errands or shoot a video or even just take a leak in peace. It happens when Ryan stands just off camera during a shoot that Shane’s at, because Indy starts whining and somehow, just _somehow_ , Ryan knows that Indy wants Shane more than toys or blankets or anything else.

It’s insanely normal, aside from all the paranormal moments. Like when Indy takes a shining to stealing Shane’s glasses from his face and popping them onto its own head, or when Indy makes all its toys disappear and refuses to bring them back until Ryan takes it to see Obi. Then there's the time when Indy is just straight up gone when Ryan wakes up one morning, and Ryan freaks the fuck out for an hour before Shane sends him a blurry picture of himself, looking half asleep, with a familiar gray lump on his chest.

It’s exhausting, but _good_. Fulfilling in the same way that editing a perfect video is, in the same way that seeing his videos trending on YouTube is. But better, he thinks—more personal, it _means_ more, even if he knows Indy isn’t truly his.

“You’re looking far too melancholy with that cute little thing on your chest,” Shane says as he sweeps back into Ryan’s living room. He reaches down and scoops Indy from Ryan’s chest and beams as Indy chirps and kicks its little inky black legs. “Was Daddy Bergara ignoring you?”

Ryan chokes on the spit he’s trying to swallow. “What— _what_ did you just call me?”

Shane, at least, looks a little embarrassed. “It’s true,” he says as he brings Indy to his chest. He falls onto the couch and nods at the remote. “C’mon, I bet we can finish this show off tonight.”

Ryan shakes his head fondly. “You know that makes you like, Papa Madej, right?”

Shane gets that same pleased, pink-eared look on his face from the day at the park. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” He’s looking at Indy as he says it, but Ryan nods in agreement.

“We make a great team, dude.” Ryan smiles at Shane, then at Indy resting on his chest. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Shane’s grin widens as he reaches for the remote, clicking play. “Happy to be of service.”

 

Ryan’s dreaming. He’s in the house from the show, he thinks; there’s the long curly staircase and the walls lined with books. As he tries to examine it closer—to look at the titles on the spines or to step closer to the stairs—it all melts away around him. It melts into darkness between one blink and the next, but Ryan knows he’s not alone. He doesn’t know _how_ , but he’s coming to accept that as just part of his life these days. He’s choosing to call it parental instinct.

He turns and can just barely make out the edges of thick, enormous tree trunks, bushes taller than him. Everything is cast in shadows and Ryan isn’t sure where the minimal light is coming from, because it’s not from overhead or anywhere else.

Ryan barely bites back a scream when he turns and comes face to face with two red eyes that gleam despite the lack of light.

Ryan opens his mouth to say something but the words lodge in his throat. Mothman tilts his head and his eyes flash. Ryan swallows. He flinches when a huge hand reaches for him; Mothman stops with his hand poised in the air, fingertips just inches from Ryan’s cheek.

“What’s happening?” Ryan manages to whisper. Mothman tilts his head again. “Are you gonna explain to me the whole deal with Indy, now?”

Mothman shakes his head.

“Oh, okay.” Ryan nods. “Uh, what’s with all this dream stuff, then?” He hasn’t dreamt of Mothman since the first night Shane stayed over, but he’s been anticipating it.

Mothman’s fingertips brush Ryan’s cheek; he can’t help but note they feel softer than he expected. They always look like claws, in art and depictions. In reality—or whatever this is—they’re soft. Not quite as soft as Indy’s fur, but close. Ryan stays stock still as Mothman traces two fingertips over Ryan’s face down to his chin before pulling away.

“Uhm,” Ryan says, voice locked in his chest.

Mothman still doesn’t say anything. Ryan wonders if he can’t, like Indy can’t.

“I really like Indy,” Ryan offers.

The antennae atop Mothman’s head twitch and he nods. He shifts closer, and Ryan forces himself to stay still and not move instinctively away. He’s not in danger. He knows that.

Mothman raises a hand again and taps a single fingertip twice against Ryan’s head.

“Uh, my brain?”

Mothman lets out a trill, deeper than Indy’s but the same kind of noise. Before Ryan can ask what that means ( _how could he tell you anyway?_ a voice that sounds like Shane echoes in his head) the whole dream vanishes.

Ryan wakes with a gasp and jerk, butting his head against Shane’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Shane asks. He sounds as groggy as Ryan feels. “What? Is everything okay?”

Ryan immediately checks that Indy is fine—and it is, sound asleep in Shane’s lap, swaddled in its favorite green blanket. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just…a weird dream.” He hedges on telling Shane the details. He still hasn’t told him about the first Mothman dream—at first because he thought it was a fluke, and because he worried Shane would call him crazy.

“You’ve got a weird look on your face,” Shane tells him.

Ryan looks at him. “Your eyes aren’t even open.”

Shane shrugs. “I just know these things. What’s up?”

Ryan bites his lip. “I dreamt about Mothman.”

Shane raises an eyebrow without opening his eyes; his glasses are sitting askew on his face. “Oh?”

“Don’t, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your skeptic voice.” Ryan looks away, even though he hasn’t moved his head from Shane’s shoulder. He’s comfortable, and he can rest a hand on Indy’s stomach like this. “Like you don’t believe me.”

“I mean, dreams are just dreams, Ryan.” Shane sits up and the motion jostles both Ryan and Indy. Ryan sits up and still doesn’t look at Shane; Indy twitches in Shane’s lap, but doesn’t wake up. “What did you see?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan says. “You’re probably right.” After a beat, Ryan turns and reaches for Indy. “We should get out of your hair.”

“Dude, no, c’mon, don’t do this. Just tell me what you saw. No judgement here, I promise.”

Ryan pauses with his fingers brushing Indy’s wings. His hands fall back to his lap as he sighs. “I’ve dreamt about him before.”

“I mean, you are babysitting his kid. It’s not that crazy.”

Ryan nods. “The first dream, I was back in Point Pleasant. Mothman doesn’t talk. I don’t really remember what happened in the first dream, but I know it wasn’t much. This time he uh, he touched me.” Ryan catches the surprised look on Shane’s face. “Just, just on my face. He tapped my forehead.”

“Like, your brain?”

“Right! That’s what I asked. He just made that noise, like the one Indy makes when we say something it likes.”

Shane’s lips quirk. “Really?”

“Yeah, like. Same kinda sound. And then I woke up.”

Shane hums. “Weird. You think it means something?”

“I mean, maybe he’s just checking in on Indy.”

“That would be reasonable. You ask him how long this is gonna last?”

“Like I said, I don’t think he talks.” Ryan sighs again. “I dunno, it’s just weird. It was weird last time, too.” Ryan shakes his head as if to clear it of the thoughts; as an afterthought, he reaches for his phone in his pocket to check the time. “Oh, man, it’s late.”

“C’mon then,” Shane says as he scoops Indy up and stands. “Let’s get to bed.”

“It’s Sunday, I should just get home.”

“Nah,” Shane says confidently. “It’s late, like you said. Just stay here, we can swing by your place in the morning so you can get clean clothes or whatever.”

Ryan hesitates, unmoving on the couch. It’s hardly the first time he’s stayed over at Shane’s since this all began, and Shane’s stayed over at his place plenty. Something about doing it when they have work the next day is just different. Shane is already moving toward the bedroom.

“Okay, yeah, coming,” Ryan says.

The routine continues, with the addition that sometimes, they go to work together the morning after one of them spends the night. It doesn’t raise any eyebrows, and no one comments, and Ryan, quietly, to himself, lets out numerous sighs of relief. He can do this. He can totally co-parent Indy while maintaining normality. He can totally nurse his crush on Shane, which kind of feels like it’s growing every day, while keeping things chill.

Totally.

“Ryan!”

Ryan whips his head up to look at where Shane’s shouting from, panicked. “What?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Shane hollers while waving him over frantically. Ryan scrambles out of his chair and makes a beeline across the office, toward the kitchenette where Shane is. “Look!”

“What?” Ryan asks again even as he looks to where Shane’s pointing. “Oh my god.”

“I know, right?”

Other people in the office have gathered around as well, to watch as Indy stands on its two little legs. Inky black against the white linoleum, Indy looks especially unreal standing upright as opposed to sitting on its butt, or laying on its back or tummy. Ryan feels a lump form in his throat.

“Walking?” he asks.

Shane shakes his head. “Nah, I set Indy down to grab us some coffee, and the little dude teleported to the floor. Next thing I knew…” Shane gestures to Indy. “I’ve already snapped pics, so don’t worry about that.”

Ryan flashes Shane a grateful smile and inches closer to Indy, their coworkers stepping back to give him space. Shane is on his heels, and a quick glance back tells Ryan that Shane has his phone out.

“Taking video, just in case,” Shane explains.

Warmth and fondness blooms in Ryan’s chest, for Indy and Shake alike. He dips to a crouch beside Indy and holds out a careful hand.

“Hey, little dude,” Ryan says softly. “Whatcha up to?”

Indy chirps and flutters its wings. It goes up on the tips of its little pointed feet before promptly falling on its ass again, sparking titters of laughter from everyone. Ryan laughs under his breath and reaches for Indy.

“You did so good,” he says quietly, just loud enough for Indy—and Shane, and Shane’s phone—to hear.

“This is one for the books, baby,” Shane declares, drawing out ‘baby’ in that usual goofy way of his. There’s a faint beep as he ends the recording. “Good job, Indy.” Shane steps forward and briskly pats Indy’s head. “You got Indy, I’ll grab the coffees?”

Ryan nods. “Can you send me the video when you have a chance?” Their coworkers are finally leaving and Ryan starts to walk back toward his and Shane’s desks.

“Already done,” Shane calls as he grabs their abandoned mugs from the kitchenette table. “Gonna microwave these real quick and I’ll be right there.”

Ryan smiles to himself as he carries Indy back over to his desk. Softly, he speaks. “Really proud of you, kiddo. That was really good.”

Indy chirps and squirms in his arms until he sits and lets the mothbaby loose in his lap. Indy faceplants against his stomach, something Ryan’s come to see as a gesture of affection, painfully cute and sweet. Indy stays like that, burrowing against the fabric of his shirt, even as Shane comes back and passes a mug to Ryan.

“So, that’s one baby milestone down,” Shane says as he sits. “What’s next, walking?”

“Maybe flying?” Ryan asks, then frowns. “Oh god, if Indy starts flying…”

“We may need to invest in one of those child leashes.”

“Shane! Those things are so,” Ryan laughs, “so embarrassing! I would never do that to Indy!” Even so, he thinks back to the leash and collar Shane got him when this whole mess started.

“Can’t you see it, though? Indy bouncing along beside you as you walk, trying to get away cuz it sees a leaf or something but the leash keeps it close? It’d be ridiculous.”

“Yeah, ridiculously _embarrassing_.” Ryan shakes his head. “No leashes.”

Shane holds up a hand in surrender. “Alright, alright.” He smiles around the lip of his mug. “No leashes,” he agrees. “Can’t go around embarrassing Mothman’s kid, after all.”

Ryan sniffs haughtily, a poor cover-up of another laugh. “Right.”

Ryan starts to dream of Mothman more. They’re never very enlightening—almost always in the same forests, either Point Pleasant or the dark one with enormous trees. Mothman never speaks, though he sometimes makes that trilling noise. His antennae twitch more than Indy’s do, Ryan notices; it almost always seems sarcastic, in a way. He thinks Shane would get a kick out of it.

Every time the dreams start, Ryan hopes for answers, and is terrified of getting them at the same time. Part of him—irrationally, he knows—thinks if Mothman answers him, he’ll take Indy back, too. It’s been just over a month now, and Ryan _knows_ he’s getting too attached. He’s letting Shane get too attached, and Obi, and everyone else at the Buzzfeed offices. He’s treating it too much like Indy is his, when sooner or later he knows he has to give it back.

Every dream is oddly freeing, too. There’s something reassuring about seeing Mothman, even if he doesn’t talk. He does the same kind of thing where he hesitantly, gently touches Ryan. Usually his face. He seems to have a fascination for prodding at Ryan’s forehead, for some fucking reason.

On one memorable occasion, Mothman holds his palm over Ryan’s heart and stays like that for several long minutes. Ryan barely remembers to breathe the entire time, and when he wakes up, he can feel the warmth of Mothman’s touch.

He doesn’t tell Shane about that dream, partly because it makes less sense than the rest and because, in a way, it sounds crazier, too.

“I think we should take Indy on a shoot with us,” Shane says one day, apropos of nothing at all. They’re sitting on Shane’s couch, with Obi in Ryan’s lap and Indy in Shane’s, with some shitty horror movie on for background noise. It’s been precisely six weeks since they ended up with Indy, which means six weeks since they filmed an investigation episode and not just a story-telling one, and Ryan’s been feeling the hit to their views. The supernatural seasons are the ones where people want to see the freaky shit, not _just_ hear the stories.

Ryan hums. “And how would that work?” he asks, only a touch bitter in his tone.

It doesn’t seem to deter Shane. “Like I said before, we see how Indy does with TJ or Devon, and we see if one of them can hold it while you and I are on camera. We don’t stay the night anywhere, and we can just say we weren’t allowed or we couldn’t make it happen or whatever.” Shane waves a flippant hand. His other hand is stroking along Indy’s back, stopping so often to gently tickle its wings, an action that sets Indy off purring.

“What if Indy doesn’t do well with TJ, or Mark, or Devon?” Ryan counters.

“Then we keep doing what we’re doing,” Shane says easily. “I know it’s not the same, but you’ve still got loads of great stories.” Shane shrugs and looks down at Indy in his lap. “We could also do a little more solo investigating, if Indy gets fussy. I’ll take a ten minute investigation and Indy stays with you, or vice versa.”

“Shane—?” Ryan starts, full of hope and worry, only for Shane to carefully, hurriedly continue.

“I’m not saying you have to say yes right now. I’m just saying… I see how the ratings are getting to you.” He looks sideways at Ryan. “It’s a bummer, I get it. Hell, I’d even say I miss ghost-hunting with you.” He smiles faintly.

Ryan mirrors the expression. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” Shane says, and his voice lilts into something less joking, more genuine. Softer, like when he’s talking to Indy and he thinks Ryan can’t hear. “It’s your show but, I mean—?”

“It’s _our_ show,” Ryan finishes, cutting into Shane’s sentence. “It is.”

Shane’s smile widens.

“I’ll think on it. We can maybe talk with Teej, see what he thinks.”

Shane nods. “Yeah, that’s all I’m saying. It’s been six weeks and there’s no sign of this little guy going anywhere.”

“You make a good point.” Ryan’s heart leaps in his chest at the thought of being able to film a proper investigation episode again. Even the thought of getting spooked, of being terrified while Shane cracks wise the whole time—even that delights him. Always has, but the way it kicks his heart into double time makes him realize just how much he’s _really_ missed it.

“I see that grin on your face, Bergara. You’re ready to get _spooked_.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Ryan allows. “Coming home with Indy and all. Who knows, maybe it’d even protect us.”

Indy trills, having dozed off. Its antennae twitch and flick, thudding lightly against Shane’s thigh.

“Indy would definitely protect us,” Shane says confidently.

Ryan wakes up to Indy floating a few inches in front of his face. He inhales sharply and tries not to move, so as not to startle Indy. Indy, whose wings are working hard to keep its little, round, fuzzy body afloat. Its legs twitch every couple seconds, like Indy is trying to regain its balance but with nothing to stand on. Ryan swallows and reaches out an unsteady hand to slap at Shane, who’s sleeping beside him.

Shane wakes up as he always does, which is slowly and groggily and flailing. It startles Indy bad enough that it falls back onto Ryan’s chest and he catches the mothbaby with a soft “oof.”

“What happened?” Shane asks. He’s got a crease across his face from the pillow.

“Indy was _floating_. Working its little wings and everything!”

Shane’s eyes snap open, before fluttering shut again as he rubs at the sleepsand crusting the corners. “Shit—I mean, shoot, fuck, _what_?”

Ryan laughs. “I was trying to wake you up _carefully_.”

“Aw, man, I can’t believe I missed it.” It’s as Shane’s reaching over to rub Indy’s back that it strikes Ryan how domestic this is. How normal it’s become to wake up in bed next to Shane, especially on weekends when there’s nowhere to be. The casual brush of Shane’s arm against Ryan’s as Shane reaches for Indy isn’t even startling anymore, just soothing and familiar.

“I’m sure it’ll happen again.” Ryan tickles at Indy’s sides and Indy’s wings flap. “Could you do it again, bud? Show Shane how talented you are?” Indy stands on shaking legs, something it’s getting better and better at even if it hasn’t mastered walking yet.

Indy looks to Shane, blinks, and then hops right off Ryan’s chest. Ryan instinctively reaches out to catch Indy and so does Shane. Their arms slap together and tangle, and it’s all for naught anyway, since Indy takes straight to flying right away. Indy’s wings send a light breeze over them even if Ryan can barely see them flapping, so smooth and fluid.

“Look,” Ryan whispers, even though Shane is definitely already watching. Just like he had when Indy first stood all on its own, Ryan feels a lump form in his throat. A mixture of pride and some other emotion he can’t quite name, both of them threatening to overwhelm him.

Indy chirps and falls into both their arms, still tangled on the bed.

“Good job, kiddo,” Shane coos. “Such a good job.”

Standing and flying become part of the routine too, along with Indy sticking its foot out confidently before either taking off or falling in some way. Shane keeps saying how it probably won’t be long until Indy’s walking, and Ryan doesn’t have the heart to point out that regular baby logic probably doesn’t apply in this case. It’s fun to see Shane fret over it, to see Shane try and help Indy along like a dad in an old home movie: he raises Indy’s wings ever so gently and tries to get Indy to walk on his toes with him. It never works, but Ryan’s got about twelve videos of it just in case.

Ryan dreams of Mothman every other night but never learns anything from it. He stops touching Ryan and stops getting as close, staring at him from afar. Mothman stays close to tree trunks; sometimes he’s nothing more than red eyes in the shadows. Ryan keeps calling out to him to no avail, even when Ryan tells him about Indy standing and flying and floating.

Then, outside the dreams, Ryan starts to get the feeling they’re being watched.

It happens after another dream with Mothman watching him from the tree line, and Ryan wakes to shivers running down his back. Immediately, even before his eyes are totally open, he rolls over and slaps at Shane’s arm.

Shane groans and slaps back at Ryan. “What,” he groans.

“Something is watching us.”

Shane peers at him with one eye. “What’s watching us, Ry?” Shane lays a hand over Indy’s back.

“I don’t know. I think, maybe Mothman?”

“Mm,” Shane says as he nods. His eyes are already slipping shut again. “You dream of Mothdaddy again?”

Ryan chokes and whatever panic he feels vanishes and is replaced with a perplexing mix of discomfort and amusement. “ _What_ did you just call him?”

Shane waves a lazy hand in a flippant gesture before it falls limp between them, right next to Ryan’s. Shane’s fingers wiggle and almost tangle with Ryan’s.

“Shane,” Ryan starts.

“Go to sleep, Ryan. Nothing’s watching us.” Shane smiles at him, eyes closed. His hand tightens on Ryan’s. “S’okay.”

Ryan casts a glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something standing beside the bed. There’s nothing but empty air. Ryan turns back to Shane, shuffles a little closer, and closes his eyes.

The feeling doesn’t leave. Ryan keeps looking over his shoulder when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But there’s never anything behind him, never anything hiding in the shadows. Ryan tries to go about life like normal, but the paranoia is starting to get to him.

 

“I’m telling you, Shane,” Ryan says one day at lunch. “We’re being watched. Or at least, me and Indy are.”

“Why not me?” Shane asks, mock indignance in his tone.

Ryan shakes his head. “Cuz you’re not a believer?” He tries.

“Hey, I believe plenty.” He gestures to Indy, who’s bouncing a leaf around in the air while Ryan and Shane work on their own burritos. “I just believe what’s right in front of me.”

Ryan hides his scowl in an especially large bite of burrito. “I’m just worried.” He looks at Indy and his heart feels a little like it’s melting in his chest. “I don’t know.”

“What’re you worried about, Ry?” Shane asks.

“I don’t know,” Ryan says again.

Shane doesn’t push.

“Okay, you sure you’re good?” Ryan’s not really sure if he’s asking Indy or TJ, both of whom are in front of him.

“We’re fine,” TJ assures. “This episode is gonna be great. We can take as many breaks as you need, so you can check in on Indy, okay?”

Ryan nods. He reaches out and pats Indy’s head, then takes a step back. It had taken several playdates with TJ coming over so Indy could get used to him—which happened _easily_ —before Ryan felt okay doing an episode with Indy on location. Even now, as he shuffles over to where Shane stands, he feels uneasy. He can’t look away from Indy, sitting in the Babybjörn strapped to TJ’s chest.

“Indy is fine,” Shane assures him once he’s close enough. His hand grips Ryan’s elbow, the touch grounding. “TJ is about to be a dad, it’s good practice for him.”

“I know. I just.” Ryan’s hands clench into anxious fists and he startles when one of Shane’s hands covers his. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it. Like Teej said, we’ll take as many breaks as we need, okay? I’m sure Indy will let us know if something is wrong.”

Ryan nods. “You’re right. Let’s do this.” He nods to Devon and Mark, too, and _finally_ , the excitement starts to swell in his chest. The adrenaline of investigating a haunted house never fails to thrill him. “Fuck, this is gonna suck so much.”

Shane snorts. “You ready to hear Dad swear, Indy?” he hollers, still snickering even as the cameras begin to roll.

Ryan still checks on Indy out of the corner of his eye any chance he gets, but he manages to lose himself a lot in the investigation. It maybe helps that it’s been almost two months since he’s last crept through an old dilapidated house, but he’s jumpy and startled and Shane’s hand at the small of his back comforts him more than it annoys him.

It’s a perfectly creepy house, and Ryan’s actually thankful to have Indy as an excuse not to spend the night. By the time they’re doing their solo investigations to wrap up, Ryan feels strung out and exhausted and ready to go home with Indy and Shane and just sleep for a whole day.

“Okay, Ryan, you’re up.” Shane passes over the GoPro. “You’re gonna be okay in there.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m not a _baby_ ,” he snaps, but he’s grinning. He takes the GoPro and angles it forward as he walks into the little water closet, filled with cobwebs and creaky floorboards. “How long did we say?” he asks, just before the door shuts behind him.

Shane smiles in the crack of the doorway. “Ten minutes.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Swearing,” Shane whispers. He shuts the door with a click.

Ryan swallows once he’s alone in the darkness. There are no lights in the closet, and the light from the cameras isn’t nearly enough to see with. His eyes adjust to the dark but it seems to take ages. He shifts from foot to foot uneasily and bites his lip when the floor creaks especially loudly underneath him. He shuffles into the closet a little deeper, until he hits the other side, and plants his back against the wall.

“Is there anyone here?” he finally finds it in himself to ask. He fumbles with the spirit box with his free hand. “I’m gonna turn this thing on, it’ll let you talk to me. If you have something to say, you can use this.”

He turns it on, wincing at the volume. Over the static, he says, “Can you tell me your name?”

_“I—like—my name.”_

Ryan’s breathing stops. “What was that?”

A long moment of nothing but the spirit box skipping from channel to channel. Ryan looks down at it, gives it a shake. When he looks up again he jumps—he could’ve sworn he saw red eyes across from him.

“Hello? Is there anybody there?”

_“You’re—safe—it’s okay.”_

“Holy fuck.” Ryan opens his mouth to ask something else. He takes a cautious step closer to the door again, where he saw the red eyes. “Is—?” A creak, a whisper, maybe, and then—

Ryan’s not ashamed to admit he screams when the door whips open. “Shane, what the _fuck_?”

“You gotta see this. Here, turn off the camera.” Shane reaches for him and pulls him out of the closet with a grip on the hem of his shirt. Ryan goes to turn off the spirit box, but to his amazement, Shane stops him. “No, no, leave it.”

“Really?”

“Just listen.” He keeps tugging until they’re beside TJ, and Ryan notices the other cameras are off too.

“What happened?”

“Shh,” Shane says. He looks at Indy. “Hey, kiddo, can you say hi?”

_“Ryan.”_

Ryan’s grip on the spirit box tightens. It’s the same voice that he heard in the water closet.

“Good job, now can you say hi? Or hello? How about you say your name?”

_“Indy!”_

“Holy fuck,” Ryan hisses. “Is—is that?”

“Did you hear something while you were in there?” Shane asks, finally looking at Ryan again.

Ryan nods. “Uh, ‘I like my name,’ and, I think, ‘you’re safe, it’s okay.’”

“Indy’s eyes were lighting up like some kinda morse code or something, and I could hear something through the door. I think—I think we figured out how Indy can talk to us, now.”

Ryan lets out a disbelieving laugh. He grins at Shane and Shane grins back, and before Ryan really thinks about it, they’re hugging. It’s a side hug, a half-hug, but not in a bro-way. Not in an awkward way. It’s purely so they can both grin at Indy like the idiots they are, until TJ clears his throat and waves a camera around.

“We still have an episode to shoot.”

There are no ghosts as far as Ryan can tell, and no demons, but the episode still ends up being one of their most popular ones in ages. Maybe it’s because they’re finally back to investigating, or maybe it’s because Ryan and Shane are riding the high of hearing Indy speak through the rest of the episode. Whatever it is, the episode hits number two on trending in less than a day and Ryan can own up to the fact he gets a little misty-eyed over it.

“Hey man,” Shane says. They’re in their little library set, having just filmed an announcement relating to more investigation-based episodes. “Wanna grab dinner tonight?”

“Sure.” Ryan’s smiling at Indy, sitting on their desk. Indy is far more concerned with Ryan’s phone. It’s floating precariously around, and Ryan’s watching it with a keen eye to catch it in case Indy decides to drop it. “You staying over?”

“If that’s okay.”

Ryan nods as TJ comes up.

“Good job, guys,” he says, not for the first time since the episode aired. It had been a mad scramble to get it edited and posted, because Ryan had been so excited to get it out there. “You two are doing a great job,” he adds, nodding to Indy.

Ryan feels himself blush while Shane says, “Thanks, Teej.”

“We are,” Ryan says after they’re left alone. “Like, best co-parenting duo ever.”

Shane raises his hand for a fistbump. “The ghoulboys are unstoppable. No ghosts, or demons, or accidental baby acquisition can defeat us.” Shane leans in and bumps his shoulder against Ryan’s.

Ryan ducks his head and smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Ryan is trying to say is he liked it better when everyone cooed and aw’d over Indy, instead of tugging Ryan aside when his hands are baby-free and asking, always in a low voice, “So…you and Shane?”

“If I’d known all it would take for you to like the spirit box was adopting a cryptid, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

Shane looks up from digging in the dufflebag, which now always has the spirit box in it, and glares at Ryan. “I don’t _like_ the spirit box. I like what it _gives_ us.”

Ryan shakes his head fondly. “Uh huh, sure, big guy. Whatever you say.”

Shane flips him the bird and Ryan makes a show of covering Indy’s eyes. They don’t always bust out the spirit box to chat with the little dude, but sometimes they just can’t resist—like now, when it’s Friday after a long week and Indy’s been chirping for _hours_. They’ve gotten pretty good at deciphering Indy’s various noises and twitches and the like, but sometimes words are just better.

Shane eventually retrieves the spirit box and grins, bright and wide.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Ryan says.

Shane shrugs. “Shut up, Ryan.” With that, he flicks the spirit box on, flinching at the screech of static. It almost immediately smooths out, quicker than it ever has on an investigation, and—

_“Yeah—shut up—Ryan.”_

Ryan stares down at Indy. “Dude! Not cool.”

Indy chirps, and then the spirit box says, _“Sor—sorry.”_

“That’s not cool, Indy. Just cuz Shane and I talk to each other like that doesn’t mean you should.”

“C’mon, Indy’s a kid, it’s gonna repeat what it hears.”

“I know, that’s why I’m trying to _prevent_ it from repeating the bad stuff.”

“Ryan.” Shane turns and claps a hand on his shoulder. “If the worst Indy is saying is ‘ _shut up_ ,’ then I think we’re doing a fine job.”

Ryan bites the inside of his cheek; he knows he’s overdoing it, but the irrational urge just takes hold of him sometimes. It’s one part fear (of Mothman’s vengeance) and one part innate parenting juju, or whatever. Ryan eventually nods, starts to say, “Yeah, you’re right—”

_“Fuck!”_

Ryan stops cold. “What did…what did Indy just say?”

Shane blanches.

“Indy,” Ryan says slowly.

_“Fuck!”_

“No, nope, done with that.” Ryan reaches out and snags the spirit box from Shane’s hands to turn it off. He tosses it in the general direction of the dufflebag, more careless than he normally would, and lifts Indy to be eye-level with him. “Indy, can you listen to me very carefully?”

“Ryan, you took the spirit box—?”

“Shush, Shane, we both know Indy can communicate fine without it.” Ryan stares at Indy intently. “Indy, are you listening?”

A chirp.

“Now,” Ryan starts, then falters. “I know you’re, ah. An interdimensional being. And I know you’re probably gonna far outlive me or Shane, and I know you’re not really mine—”

“Ry.”

“Right. Anyway. Uh, you shouldn’t stay that word, okay? It’s not a nice word.”

“Jesus Christ, Ryan.”

“I’m trying to be a good parent, Shane!”

Indy trills and its wings bat against Ryan’s hands tucked underneath them. Ryan pauses as Indy squirms in his grip, wriggling as if to get closer to Ryan. Slowly, Ryan brings Indy in to his chest and almost immediately, the mothbaby nuzzles up under his chin.

“Aw, dude,” Ryan says. “It’s okay, you’re not in trouble.”

“Sure sounded like it,” Shane says but he mimes zipping his mouth shut when Ryan pins him with a glare.

Ryan rubs his chin over the top of Indy’s head. “Just wanna be a good parent,” he mutters again.

“I know. You’re just doing the right thing.”

Ryan finally looks over at Shane with a grin. “Yeah.”

So maybe Ryan goes a little overboard with some of his parenting; Shane does it too. It’s not a big deal, really. It feels good, for Ryan at least, to pour himself into taking care of Indy. To feel like he’s changing something somewhere in the universe, even if it’s just feeding the little dude leaves that it may or may not actually be eating (Ryan has a theory that Indy is just humoring him.)

It wouldn’t really matter—Shane hardly teases him for it, since Shane doesn’t have a leg to stand on (and oh, the _irony_ )—except their coworkers start to notice. Or rather, their coworkers have always noticed, Ryan thinks, they’ve just been exceptionally polite not to mention it up until now. So what if Ryan and Shane have started carpooling more often than not? And so what if Shane kisses Indy’s head? Indy’s got a cute fucking face, _of course_ Shane wants to kiss it.

What Ryan is trying to say is he liked it better when everyone cooed and aw’d over Indy, instead of tugging Ryan aside when his hands are baby-free and asking, always in a low voice, “So…you and Shane?”

Ryan’s thinking about this, about Him-and-Shane, as he sits at home, alone for once, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He’s cradling Indy in his lap and he instinctively pulls the baby closer to his stomach, hunching protectively over Indy. He looks around his apartment, which is empty and still aside from the buzz of the TV droning on, but something itches at him, an uncomfortable feeling. It’s not as though he forgot about the whole _being watched_ thing or the ensuing concern associated with it, things have just been busy and Ryan had almost thought the watching thing had stopped. A sense of dread fills him now.

Ryan swallows uneasily and turns his head slowly, carefully. For a split second he swears he see something at the corner of his vision, but when he looks, there’s nothing there. Ryan’s fingers clench around Indy as he holds his breath and waits—for what, he doesn’t know.

His phone going off nearly gives him a heart attack. He considers letting it ring, but when he looks over and sees Shane’s face lighting up the screen, he thinks better of it. Shane gets _antsy_ now, if Ryan doesn’t answer.

“Hey,” Ryan says with a great exhale.

_“Everything okay?”_

“S’fine, just… Nothing. It’s all good. What’s up?”

Shane’s off like a shot, rattling about something or other that Ryan only half-listens to. He’s distracted by the sudden absence of whatever he felt before: a presence, an oppressive force of some kind. Ryan pets Indy maybe a little too hard, because it squawks and Shane’s chattering stops abruptly.

_“Ryan?”_

“Sorry, long day.” Ryan lightens his touch on Indy’s back. “You picking us up tomorrow?”

 _“Of course,”_ and then Shane’s back to his rambling. Ryan sinks into the cushion and lets his eyes drift shut, and puts the unease out of his mind for now.

Ryan does his best to put it out of his mind, and it works, mostly... Except for the moments when it’s _happening_. Which is becoming more and more frequent.

Like at the grocery store, when he’s got Indy in the cart and more groceries than he really needs (Shane’s over more often than he’s not, and Ryan tries not to think too hard about how he always grabs Shane’s favorite cereals and snacks and _whatever_.) He’s meandering down aisle twelve, scooping more rice-a-roni boxes than one man really needs into the cart, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It’s not quite a familiar sensation yet, but it’s enough to have Ryan looking over his shoulder the rest of his trip, and the drive home, and even once he’s in his apartment until Shane comes over.

Or like when he’s holed up in Ghoul HQ on his own, doing research for upcoming episodes. People have mostly chilled out about Indy—they ooh and ahh over it less, but if there’s people around Indy almost certainly wants to interact with them, so Ryan has to lock himself in Ghoul HQ if he wants to get anything done. It’s worse in there, even worse than his apartment. Maybe because the desk and clutter around him feel almost like sacred ground, somewhere untouchable. So to feel goosebumps take over his skin and for a panicked sweat to break out on his brow, it’s less than pleasant. With no Shane around to ease the paranoia, sometimes it’ll last until Ryan packs up for the day; Shane never asks him why he’s so exhausted and Ryan wouldn’t know what to tell him even if he did.

Ryan puts it mostly out of his mind, right up until it starts happening when Shane is still around. Then he starts to get a little more worried.

It happens first when Shane and Indy are asleep on the couch and Ryan’s in the kitchen cleaning up dishes and leftovers. The domesticity is a common occurrence, by this point. Ryan handles Indy for most of the waking day and their work hours, so Shane insists on being on Indy Duty when they’re home, to give Ryan something like a break.

Ryan’s shaking his head fondly, putting the last couple dishes to dry, when a shiver runs down his spine. Immediately he whips around and surveys his kitchen. His mouth goes dry even though he sees nothing. No shadowy figures or glowing red eyes. No tell-tale screeches, _nothing_. Slow and cautious, Ryan walks toward the living room where Shane and Indy are asleep on the couch.

Well, Indy’s actually asleep, while Shane’s as good as there. His eyes are barely open and only aimed in the direction of the TV, not focused. Ryan doesn’t say anything as he creeps into the living room and looks around. He peeks behind the bookshelves and the entertainment center where the television sits. He even makes his way to the front door and pulls it open, taking a look beyond his doorstep for a quick second.

Nothing, nothing, nothing _anywhere_. Ryan’s hands shake as he shuts the front door, and he flat out _screams_ when he turns around and comes face-to-face (or rather, face-to-neck) with Shane.

“What’s up?” Shane asks blearily.

“Nothing,” Ryan says, the word tasting foul in his mouth. “Ready for bed?”

Shane looks at him with heavy eyes but nods. He doesn’t remark on Ryan’s scream. He hefts Indy in his arms and flashes a grin down at the snoring mothbaby, then turns that grin on Ryan.

Ryan can admit, if only to himself, that his knees go a little weak. “Let’s go, big guy. You look like you’re gonna fall over.”

Shane shrugs, a loose and tired gesture. He shifts Indy into the crook of one arm and swings his free arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “C’mon then.”

If Shane notices that Ryan maybe tucks himself a little tighter against his side, he has the grace not to say anything. His hand grips the ball of Ryan’s shoulder and squeezes, a point of grounding comfort. They get ready for bed in companionable silence, though it feels tense to Ryan. They brush their teeth side by side at his single vanity, Indy resting on the edge of the sink; they change into pajamas without really looking at each other, but not quite looking away, either. They crawl into bed together with Indy propped on a pillow between them and already fast asleep yet again.

Ryan reaches out over the pillow to lay his hand on Shane’s arm and Shane smiles at him.

“G’night, Ry,” Shane murmurs. He brings his own hand up and trails the tips of his fingers over Ryan’s forearm, settling on his elbow and holding steady. It’s a little awkward, and Ryan’s sure they’ll come apart quickly once they both doze off, but Ryan doesn’t pull away.

“Shane,” Ryan says, looking up from his various notes strewn across the couch to where Shane sits cross-legged on the floor. For a split-second, Ryan loses his train of thought as he watches Indy toddle across the carpet right into Shane’s open arms, catching Indy as its little legs give out and its wings flaps as it falls face first. “Shane,” Ryan says again, when his heart rate has slowed and Ryan’s thoroughly committed the sight of Shane cradling Indy in his arms to memory (nevermind the fact it’s a sight he’s seen a million times, it’ll never get old.)

“What’s up?” Shane asks. He rights Indy and gives it a little nudge. Indy has taken to walking pretty quickly, waddling along for a few feet before spinning around with the help of its wings. Somewhere around the two-and-a-half-months mark, Indy had taken its first step and it’s been almost nonstop since.

“Do you feel something?”

Shane’s whole body goes stiff and he finally looks over at Ryan. “What?” There’s something in his gaze, something in the way his mouth hangs open ever so slightly.

“Like,” Ryan bites his bottom lip. “Do you _feel_ something?” he asks again, unable to articulate the sensation that’s been plaguing him for weeks now.

“Feel something…like what?” Shane asks slowly. He turns, faces Ryan more directly, looking away only when Indy bumps into his knee. Shane helps Indy turn around and then the mothbaby is off once more.

Ryan makes a softly frustrated noise. “Like something’s watching us?” he asks. It feels stupid to say aloud and Ryan breaks Shane’s stare to look down at his lap full of notes instead. Silence blooms and Ryan finally forces himself to look up again; Shane’s no longer looking at him. Instead, Shane’s watching Indy.

“You think it’s Mothman?” Shane asks.

“Do you feel it?” Ryan asks, unable to keep the eager tone out of his voice.

Shane shakes his head, and at first the disappointment is familiar—at first it’s no different than all the times the spirit box has spit out something and Shane has just shrugged and said, _“I don’t find it compelling.”_ A flare of anger follows in the wake of the familiarity but it snuffs out quick. It isn’t as though Ryan thinks _a ghost_ is watching them, or something; it really could just be all in his head, for all he knows. Indy certainly hasn’t shown any indication that something is wrong.

“Sorry, man,” Shane says when he catches sight of Ryan’s fallen expression. “You wanna tell me about it?”

“It’s probably just all in my head.” Ryan settles back in the couch and pulls his laptop closer. “Forget it.”

He can feel Shane’s eyes on him for several minutes after the conversation dies.

“You _really_ don’t feel that?”

Shane sighs, looking up from his tablet. Indy is in Ryan’s lap, bouncing an array of toys in front of its big red eyes with telekinesis. “Again?” he asks.

Ryan glowers at Shane. “Yes.”

“No, Ryan,” Shane says, sounding almost painfully exasperated. “I don’t feel like something’s watching us. If something _is_ watching us, then I’m sure it’s just good ol’—?”

“Don’t say it,” Ryan snaps. Shane starts to laugh but then seems to catch sight of the look on Ryan’s face, and his chortling dies down quick. Ryan feels crazy, feels at once like he’s overreacting and like Shane’s underreacting. It’s driving him nuts, in a way he can’t quite put into words.

He shakes his head again and tilts it back, putting any and all thoughts of craziness from his mind.

Ryan would’ve almost accepted that it really was just in his head—some kind of pregnancy brain, maybe, ignoring the fact that Ryan’s never been pregnant and certainly not with Indy—except things escalate. Just like the whole _being watched_ thing, it starts innocuously enough. Tripping over a crack in the sidewalk here, slipping on a pair of his underwear left on the floor there. Little things, unnoticeable.

Until little stumbles become bigger things, like missing the top step on a shoot and barely catching himself on the bannister, with Indy in the Björn against his chest, no less. Things like overestimating the height of the curb and falling into traffic right as a taxi comes speeding around the corner—saved only by another pedestrian yanking him out of the way.

Little things that suddenly aren’t so little anymore, and Ryan’s starting to freak the fuck out. It’s about two months overdue, he thinks, but better late than never.

“You, what?” Shane asks, staring at him from across the dinky dining room table. He sets his coffee on the table beside his plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs, and sets down his phone, open to some news article or another. He’s a regular old suburban dad at this point, and the thought should make Ryan laugh, but it doesn’t.

“Something is watching us.” Ryan says it again and forces himself to keep the exasperation out of his tone. He told himself he wouldn’t get upset with Shane, promised himself that he’d keep his cool because then, surely, Shane would hear him out and see Ryan’s side of things. “I’m sure of it,” he adds for good measure.

Shane blinks back at him.

“Listen, it started—I _told_ you when it started, that it felt like we were being watched.”

Shane nods along. “I remember. We thought it was just Mothdaddy checking up on our babysitting skills.”

“ _Please_ stop calling him that,” Ryan half-begs. “And yeah, that’s what I thought at first. But it kept happening, and for a while it was only when me and Indy were alone. But then it was happening at the grocery store, and at work, and then it started happening when you were around, and now.” Ryan’s mouth clicks shut suddenly. “It’s…” God, he feels crazy even saying it aloud.

“Ryan, whatever it is, it’s probably, probably nothing.”

A tick of anger spikes and spurs the words from Ryan’s mouth. “I think something is trying to kill me and Indy,” he spits out, finally.

Shane goes still in his seat.

“I, I fucking almost got hit by a car last week, and I keep almost _dying_ on shoots.” On top of the stair incident, which had happened two more times, Ryan very narrowly avoided falling through some rotted floorboards; then something _definitely_ tried to push him out a window one night, and that had been the point that Ryan put a stop to filming on location, at least for a little while.

“Something is _trying to kill me_ , Shane. And every fucking time it happens, Indy is with me, and Indy is in just as much danger.”

The last bit is maybe a low blow, because Ryan is hoping, just a bit, that it’ll get to Shane. A dirty trick, perhaps, but they both have a soft spot for the little mothbaby. If anything could convince Shane of some supernatural force coming after them, it’s Indy.

“Ryan, nothing is trying to kill you.” Shane speaks slowly, like he’s talking to a kid. The anger swirling in Ryan’s chest grows, spreads through his ribs. “It’s just, just coincidences. That sorta stuff just happens sometimes.”

Ryan scoots back suddenly from the dining room table and reaches to pluck Indy from its high chair. “I’m telling you, Shane,” Ryan grits out. “This isn’t some bit for the show, I’m not saying it’s a fucking ghost, or something.”

Belatedly, Ryan realizes he’s been swearing up a _storm_ the last few minutes, all in front of Indy. He decides fear is a perfectly acceptable excuse, and he’ll just remember to give Indy a gentle lecture on why swearing is bad, later.

“You gotta believe me,” Ryan adds. He holds Indy close to his chest and tilts his head toward the ceiling. “I feel like I’m going nuts here, and if you don’t believe me, Shane, I don’t know what I’m gonna fucking do.” Ryan looks down at the little bundle in his arms, and Indy peers back up at him; its antennae twitch, but otherwise, Indy seems fine.

Shane stands up and approaches Ryan like he’s coming upon a wounded, spooked animal. “I’m not saying...” He stops, sighs. Ryan can see him chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks over his words.

“Forget it,” Ryan sighs. “Can you go?”

Shane rears back, startled. “What?”

“I just think maybe you should go back to your place, for a bit.”

“You think something is trying to kill you and you’d rather be alone?”

Yes, Ryan’s logic is almost _painfully_ flawed. But he’s scared and shaken and paranoid and Shane’s standing here, clearly trying to tell him it’s all in his head without using so many words. Ryan doesn’t want to look at him, not when all Ryan wants to do is _beg_ him to see the pattern.

“Just for a couple hours,” Ryan says with a note of finality in his voice. “We’ll be fine.” He doesn’t quite believe it as he says it, but he doesn’t let Shane see that.

“Uh, okay.” Shane gulps audibly. “I’ll. I’ll bring dinner by, tonight. Is that cool?”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll be here. Just text when you’re on your way.’

“Okay,” Shane says again. He starts toward the threshold between the kitchen and the living room. He stops with a hand against the wood frame. “Ryan,” he starts.

“It’s fine,” Ryan says in a voice that very clearly means _no it’s not_. He holds Indy in one arm and starts to gather their dishes. He keeps his back to Shane as he shakes off the leftover eggs and bacon into the garbage before piling the dishes into the sink. When he finally turns around, Shane’s gone. Ryan busies himself in the kitchen while Shane gets dressed in the bedroom—Ryan’s bedroom, in a way it’s turned into _their_ bedroom—and stays busy until the front door falls shut with a click.

Ryan sits on the couch with a camera resting above the TV, aimed at him and Indy, and he waits. There’s no guarantee anything will happen; whatever’s stalking him and Indy, it’s clearly trying to make whatever happens to them looks like an accident. Ryan has Indy strapped into the Moby Wrap, because he’s keeping the little guy as close as possible, half-convinced that if he turns his back, Indy will be gone—or _worse_.

So Ryan pulls a notebook into his lap and makes a list to sort through his thoughts. He writes down everything he knows about the thing that’s fucking with him. It’s clearly smart enough to plan, to make everything look accidental. It’s _gotta_ be something supernatural, with the whole feeling watched but nothing being around. And it can’t be Mothman, there’s just no way; no way Mothman would put his kid in explicit danger, unless…

“Is your dad testing me?” Ryan asks Indy, who peers up at him with bright red eyes. “Cuz that would be _super_ fucked up.”

Indy chirps and Ryan gets the feeling that if it wasn’t wrapped up in the Moby Wrap, Indy would be slapping him with a wing right about now.

“I know, I know,” Ryan says. “My bad.” He pats Indy’s head then returns to his list.

It’s not especially long or in-depth, but it makes him feel a little better. He still has no idea what he’s going to do, especially if he can’t convince Shane that something’s after them.

Ryan stares at the list until he dozes off, pen in hand.

The knocking echoes inside his head. He looks around but everything is dark. It’s not Point Pleasant. There are no red eyes in the treelines, and there’s no eerie sense of comfort that usually comes with Mothman’s visits. A chill runs down Ryan’s spine and he swallows uneasily. He wraps his arms around himself; immediately his panicked heartbeat kicks into overdrive because Indy isn’t strapped to his chest.

Ryan opens his mouth to scream when the knocking gets louder. It’s hurting his head it’s so fucking loud, and it’s freaking him out because it feels like it’s _inside his head_. He can’t unfurl his arms long enough to clutch at his head even though he desperately wants to. He also wants to find Indy, reach out for the little guy, and—

The knocking stops, sudden and abrupt, and just as quickly there’s a hand on his shoulder.

Ryan wakes with a start and the first thing he notices is Indy throwing a fit, still trapped in the Moby Wrap. Indy’s fluttering and chirping and squeaking, clearly distressed. Ryan hunches forward and curls his arms around Indy.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ryan coos softly. Indy doesn’t stop freaking out until Ryan scoops Indy out of the wrap and holds it in his arms. Indy burrows its face against Ryan’s chest and lets out a soft chirp, shaky and unhappy, and Ryan pets its back apologetically.

“Hey, man,” Shane says. Ryan startles slightly, even though he knows, dimly, that Shane is the one who woke him up. “I was knocking but you weren’t answering.”

Ryan closes his eyes and wills his heart to settle. “Bad dream,” he explains.

“Clearly.” Shane slowly sits beside him. His stare is intense and unsettling and Ryan avoids looking at him in favor of looking down at Indy. Indy isn’t looking at him, too busy pressing itself as close as possible to Ryan instead. Its feathers twitch and brush over Ryan’s jaw, a soothing and ticklish feeling. “Ryan.”

“Hm?” Ryan asks.

“We need to talk.”

A million panicked thoughts race through Ryan’s mind all at once: _Shane wants to leave the show, Shane wants to stop helping with Indy, Shane needs to leave, Shane’s leaving oh fuck oh shit_ —

“I saw Mothman.”

Ryan’s brain comes to a screeching halt. “Huh?” he asks, well aware of how his voice breaks.

“In a dream. I went home and took a nap, and Mothman visited me.”

Ryan stares at Shane slack-jawed. “He did?”

Shane nods and lets out a shaky breath. “He explained everything.”

“Wait, wait, wait, he _talked_ to you?” Ryan asks. He can’t help the incredulous tone. Mothman has visited him a dozen times but _never_ once said a goddamn word. Ryan tells Shane as much, and Shane actually laughs.

“I dunno why he decided to actually talk to me, but uh.” Shane reaches out and his hand brushes over Indy’s back gently. “He said that Indy was in danger, and that’s why he saddled Indy with us.”

“You—I swear to god, Shane, if you’re fucking with me—?”

Indy chirps unhappily.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ryan whispers.

“I’m not messing with you,” Shane says and his voice turns urgent. He even scoots closer on the couch, until his knee bumps Ryan’s and their thighs press together, warm through layers of jeans and sweats. “I’m one hundred percent serious. And I’m sorry.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. Oh, he knows exactly what Shane is sorry for—he’s gotta hear him say it.

Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry for not believing you, Ryan.”

Privately, entirely to himself, Ryan thinks, _that’s the sexiest thing Shane’s ever said to me._ Aloud, he says, “Oh, thank _god_.”

Shane grins feebly.

“What else did Mothman tell you?” Ryan asks. It never gets old to hear Shane apologizing for something relating to the supernatural—namely, Ryan being right. As good as it is, there are more pressing matters. “Did he say why Indy is in danger? What it is?”

A pained expression crosses Shane’s face. “You gotta promise me you’re not gonna freak out. Or, for that matter, you’re not gonna _gloat_.”

A spark of delight ignites in Ryan’s chest. “You have to let me gloat a little.”

Shane sighs. “I know,” he admits. He drops his stare and shakes his head, but when he looks up again there’s a fond lilt to his smile. He opens his mouth and tells Ryan the whole story.

He tells Ryan how Mothman came to him in the dream, in a way that sounds word-for-word like Ryan’s own cryptid-infested dreams. Ryan kind of wants to ask what Mothman’s voice sounded like, but decides that’s not important (not right now, at least.) Shane tells him that Mothman explained that something’s been hunting Indy for a while now, and that when the two of them went to Point Pleasant for the second time, Mothman recognized them, amazingly enough.

“So he recognized us and was just like, ‘hey, I’ll give them my baby?’”

Shane shrugs. “I mean, it _was_ your first theory.”

“Oh my god.”

“He thought whatever’s hunting Indy would be thrown off, and that it would give him time to take out the… _god_. The demon. It’s a demon, okay?”

Ryan’s mouth drops open. “It’s—are you— _a fucking demon?_ ”

“Don’t gloat. Save the gloating. You can gloat when we’re no longer in danger,” Shane cuts across him. “What matters right now is that one, you stop swearing in front of our kid, and two, we need to figure out how to _stop_ the demon.”

Ryan’s brain is buzzing like a live wire and he’s pretty sure his heart just stopped dead in his chest. His mouth is dry and hanging open like a fly trap, and he stares at Shane, waiting to watch the pin drop expression cross the other man’s face.

Sure enough, the tips of Shane’s ears turn pink like a beacon. “Shut up,” he says. “Focus.”

Ryan wants to say _I am focused, on_ you _. On us._ He just nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“I have no idea what we’re supposed to do. Mothman didn’t exactly give a tips and tricks list or anything. As far as I can tell, he’s hunting the demon and trying to fight it, but it keeps getting away and that’s when it finds Indy, and by proxy, you. And me, I guess.”

“We just keep doing what we’ve been doing, except now I don’t have to worry about doing it alone.” Ryan aims a shaky grin at Shane, whose own stern expression softens. “I’m really glad you believe me, man.”

Shane’s hand finds his shoulder and squeezes. “I’m starting to think I need to just _stop_ doubting you in the first place.”

“It wouldn’t be nearly as gratifying then, every time I prove you wrong.”

The hand squeezing his shoulder turns into a playful punch. “C’mon, I brought takeout. We can discuss strategy over chicken fried rice and General Tso's.”

Shane stands and makes his way toward the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Water is fine,” Ryan hollers back. He looks down and lets out a relieved sigh to see Indy staring back up at him. “How you doing, kiddo?”

Indy chirps and _thwaps_ its wings against Ryan gently.

“Sorry I scared you.” Ryan loosens his hold on Indy just enough for its wings to have full reign. “Had a nightmare is all.”

“I gotta say,” Shane says as he returns to the living room, two glasses of water in hand. “Mothman’s communication skills leave something to be desired, and while I’m not positive he made the right choice picking _us_ to raise his kid, I think we’re probably doing better than he was.”

“Dude, don’t badmouth Indy’s dad right in front of it!”

Shane shrugs as he sits again, just as close as before. He sets their cups on the coffee table and pulls the plastic bag full of too much Chinese food closer. “I’m just saying, it’s taken _how long_ for Mothman to come clean about this demon business? At least you and I are open with each other.”

Ryan accepts his usual order from Shane with a plastic fork and handful of napkins, and tries very, _very_ hard not to think of everything he’s _not_ telling Shane.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m still naked, I’m just warning you,” Shane says. “But most of me is covered by your shower curtain. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Things aren’t magically better after that. Having Shane on his side helps, it _always_ helps, but the tingling sensation of being watched doesn’t go away, nor do the little mishaps that could easily result in _death_. If anything, both of those things start happening more often, which just fucking sucks, but is totally predictable. And funnily enough, nearly dying isn’t better even when Shane’s at his side to experience it.

“How the hell were you not out of your mind?” Shane asks, out of breath and eyes darting around wildly. A box had fallen from Ryan’s closet and nearly came down on Shane’s head—which wouldn’t have been all that scary normally, except Shane jumped out of the way just in time and the box hit the floor with a devastating _thud_ that made everything far more terrifying in retrospect. Shane’s sitting on the bed with his head in his hands; Ryan’s beside him, Indy in his lap, trying to be supportive but also internally freaking out.

“I’ve seen you freak out over _way_ less than near death experiences, and somehow you weren’t losing your mind.”

Ryan shrugs. “I dunno. I really did think it was all in my head for a while there.” Ryan strokes Indy’s back and it soothes him and Indy both. Without thinking, Ryan reaches out and pulls Shane’s hand to Indy’s back, encouraging him to do the same. “All I was really thinking about was keeping Indy safe.”

Shane nods. “Yeah, I can understand that.” His gaze lingers first on Indy, then on Ryan. Heavy, intense. Something twists in Ryan’s chest.

Shane’s practically moved in with him at this point, because Indy seems to like Ryan’s apartment better. They’ve even moved Obi in and set up a litterbox in an unoccupied corner, and Shane only stops by his own apartment to make sure things are untouched or if he’s thought of something he needs to bring over. They have breakfast every morning. Sometimes Ryan drags Shane to the gym with him. They go into work together every single time and no one even bats an eye at it anymore.

If this were a movie, _something_ probably would’ve happened by now, and by “something,” Ryan means any number of things. Accidental touching, or cuddling, or lingering stares; all those things have happened, but Ryan knows full well that none of them have been accidents.

Shane’s hand brushing over the small of his back when they’re flitting around the kitchen in the evenings. Ryan’s fingers skimming Shane’s when they both rest their hand on the center console of the car. Ryan’s head on Shane’s shoulder as they crowd on the couch, taking up almost one cushion just between the two of them, even though the couch is plenty big enough to spread out on. Shane’s arm around Ryan as they sleep, or his hand on Ryan’s hip as they talk in hushed tones over a dozing Indy.

And the _stares_. Jesus Christ, the _staring_. Ryan’s just as guilty of it, and it’s not like he _minds_ or anything. It just feels like this enormous pressure building and growing and expanding until it’s filling up every crevice of Ryan, of his apartment, every inch of space between him and Shane.

And yet neither of them do a thing about it. Ryan might be losing his mind, just a little.

“Jesus,” Shane mutters, pulling Ryan from his thoughts. “That box could’ve killed me.”

Ryan reaches out and pats Shane’s shoulder, a little awkward and a little not. “You’re okay,” he says.

Shane shakes his head and lets out a final sigh. “We gotta figure something out. We can’t just live in danger forever.”

Ryan stands, Indy cradled in one arm, and holds out his free hand to Shane. “C’mon, let’s get dinner, take our minds off it. I don’t wanna think about it for a bit.”

Shane hesitates but extends his arm and slips his hand into Ryan’s, allowing him to pull Shane up and off the bed. “I could cook,” he offers as they walk toward the door, side-stepping around the box of books that still sits ominously on the floor.

Ryan situates himself at the dining room table with Indy in his lap and watches Shane move through his kitchen with a grace that’s pretty much absent everywhere else in Shane’s life. It’s funny to watch him; Indy is always enthralled by it, chirping and squawking and flapping its wings as Shane puts on a show.

Ryan lets his thoughts wander back to their earlier path—the not-so-accidental touches and cuddles and stares. He thinks about all the other _somethings_ that haven’t happened yet, namely kissing. He thinks about kissing Shane a lot. Always has. Or, not always, but for a while now, long before Indy came along.

He thinks about it now, focuses on the smudge of batter at the corner of Shane’s mouth. He was thinking about it this morning when he woke up first and Shane’s hand was still on his hip from the night before. He was thinking about it as he watched Shane move boxes of his and Obi’s things into Ryan’s apartment over the last week.

Ryan knows he could make a move; he’s not some damsel waiting on a prince. He’s just scared, has been for two years, ever since he accepted his ridiculous affection for Shane had grown into something more than platonic. He’s scared of messing up their dynamic, even more terrified of it now that they have Indy.

 _Indy matters most. Indy’s safety is top priority,_ Ryan thinks as Shane sets a plate with a frankly absurd amount of waffles in the center of the table. _We have to protect Indy more than anything,_ Ryan thinks as he watches Shane finally wipe away the spot of batter.

 _Indy, Indy, Indy_ , Ryan thinks.

The demon is still working the whole accident angle, but it’s also apparently decided to take them out one by one, for some reason. Before, things were happening when all three of them were together; now, the accidents start happening in rare moments of solitude.

It starts with Ryan eating breakfast alone at work, because Shane stayed home sick and offered to keep Indy with him and out of Ryan’s hair. He’s eating cereal because it’s easy and mindless, and he’s reading an article for an upcoming episode of True Crime, and suddenly the clump of sugary frosted flakes sticks in his throat like it’s coated in molasses. He’s in a dining room and over the sudden panicked rushing in his ear, he can hear the din of his coworkers. He’s not totally alone but he can’t breathe and the panic is warring with the lack of air and he blinks as spots start to dance across his vision _way_ too soon.

A hand coming down on his back hard is what saves him, dislodges the clump of corn flakes from his throat and sends the wet mess flying across the table.

“Gross,” Andrew observes. “No Indy today?”

Ryan shakes his head. “Shane’s home sick, figured he’d keep Indy there.”

Andrew nods and his eyes narrow. “You’re not looking so hot yourself,” he says.

“I, uh.” He rubs at his throat, where it feels tender and bruised from fucking frosted flakes of all the goddamn things. “I may be catching what Shane has.”

Andrew snorts. “I’m so shocked,” he drawls sarcastically. “You catching a bug from Shane? Alert the presses.”

An embarrassed flush steals over Ryan’s cheeks but the teasing ebbs his panic away. He aims a half-hearted kick at Andrew’s ankle. “You’re one to talk. You and Steven both came in with runny noses last week.”

“Alaska was fucking cold,” Andrew supplies, but his cheeks have turned pink now too. “Go, I’ll cover if anyone asks.”

Ryan pushes the bowl of cereal away from himself and tries not to feel guilty about not getting work done when his day hasn’t even really started. “Thanks, man.”

He can’t _not_ tell Shane why he’s home six and a half hours earlier than he’s supposed to be. Shane’s sprawled on the couch with Indy fluttering in circles above him, and he sits up the moment Ryan comes through the door.

“Uh,” Shane says. He sounds vaguely like he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Something happened at work,” Ryan says. As he kicks the front door shut behind him, he’s struck with the overwhelming desire to just fall onto the couch, onto Shane, and lay there for the rest of the day. He toes out of his shoes and sits on the floor beside the couch instead. “Almost choked on some frosted flakes.”

Shane sits up even more and reaches out to brush a hand over Ryan’s shoulder. “What?”

“The demon tried to kill me with corn flakes. It wasn’t _gr-r-reat_.” Ryan gives a feeble attempt at a Tony the Tiger impression and earns a breathy laugh from Shane. When he looks up at Shane, though, the other man is frowning. “It really freaked me out, told Andrew I was sick and he said he’d cover for me.”

A hand lands in his hair as Ryan tips his head back against the couch cushion. Shane’s fingers are long and thorough as he combs through Ryan’s hair. “Well, shit.”

Ryan nods. “Yeah.” His eyes flutter shut as he lets Shane’s touch relax him. “Fucking scary, man.”

Indy plops into his lap suddenly and Ryan’s arms come to hold it readily, a natural instinct by now. Indy faceplants against Ryan’s stomach and lets out a contented trill.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Ryan shakes his head minutely. He doesn’t want to dislodge Shane’s hand. “It’s alright.”

Ryan’s in bed with Indy almost asleep on his chest the next time it happens. It doesn’t happen to him, though, which is almost scarier. Shane is in the en suite taking a shower, and Ryan listens to him sing a song, Ryan’s not sure what—it’s _that_ offkey (deliberately, Ryan thinks, because he knows Shane can carry a tune) and also muffled by the spray of the shower. It’s soothing in a weird way; the melody of falling water and Shane’s voice. It could lull Ryan to sleep and nearly does.

Right up until there’s a piercing scream that interrupts it all. Ryan’s up so fast a muscle in his back twinges. The scream is accompanied by a heavy thud and the weirdly distinct sound of the shower rings popping off the rack. Ryan scrambles to stand while keeping hold of Indy and creeps toward the bathroom door. It’s slightly ajar just as Shane left it, and steamy air spills out into the bedroom.

Indy trills unhappily, and Ryan lays a hand on its back.

“Shane?” Ryan asks, voice too quiet, held back by fear of what will (or won't) answer him. Either a demon, or _nothinginess_ , both of which would fucking suck.

But neither of those things happen. Shane answers him. Just Shane. “You ever seen the first _Final Destination_ movie?” The shower is still running under his voice.

Ryan blinks. “Of course I have.”

“Of course you have,” Shane agrees. “You know that scene where the kid gets strangled in the bathroom?”

“Oh my god, I’m coming in.”

“I’m still naked, I’m just warning you,” Shane says. “But most of me is covered by your shower curtain. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Ryan slips into the bathroom and sure enough, Shane is wrapped in the shower curtain.

“You don’t look like you’ve been strangled.”

“It wasn’t a tit-for-tat remake,” Shane retorts. “It was spiritually the same. Handsome young man, dying in a bathroom due to an unseen force. I slipped on something, I don’t even know what. Banged my head against the wall and caught myself on your shower curtain.”

Ryan inches closer. “Is your head okay?”

“Gonna be a lump.” Shane lifts a damp arm to feel at the back of his head and winces. “Definitely a lump.” He pulls his fingers away and waggles them, pruny and wet with water. “No blood, though.”

“Thank god.” Ryan drops his head and tries to get his breathing under control. “You good, then?”

Shane nods and sits up. “Maybe, uh. Stay by the door.” As he moves, the shower curtain falls down his chest and exposes the patch of hair smattered across his pectorals. The water still coming from the shower pitter-pats against the curtain and sprays Shane, too. Ryan looks away, far too aware of the blush on his cheeks.

“I can do that,” Ryan says as he hurries toward the bathroom door. He steps back into the bedroom and keeps his back to the open door. “Just, holler. If you need me.”

“You got it.”

Ryan listens with uneasy breathing as Shane clambers out of the tub, banging what sounds like his knee and then his elbow against the side, somehow. The water was still going the whole time but Shane turns it off once his wet feet hit the tiled bathroom floor. There’s the dull sounds of him drying off, and the even softer noises of him pulling on his pajamas.

He comes to the bathroom door and Ryan lets himself lean away from the door, lets himself be aware of Shane’s proximity for a few moments.

“I’m okay,” Shane says.

“I know,” Ryan agrees. He steps away and moves toward the bed. “C’mon, big guy.”

The thing with all the attacks is they’re always, _always_ centered around Ryan or Shane. Even before Ryan told Shane everything, it wasn’t like Indy ever took a tumble of its own that could’ve killed the little dude.

(In all honesty, Ryan isn’t sure if anything _could_ kill Indy, but he’s not itching to find out.)

Anyway, the attacks are always leveled against Ryan or Shane, individually and most often alone. Now that the demon seems intent on picking them off individually, the closest either has come to being around when the other is attacked is being a room away. Like Shane in the en suite and Ryan in the bedroom, or Ryan in the kitchen and Shane asleep with Indy on the couch.

It kind of figures that when the attacks turn on Indy, everything changes.

 

They’re on a shoot when it happens. It’s meant to be lowkey: a daylight shoot, even, because the sun has been out too much not to use it and the old Victorian style house is eerie enough without being coated in darkness. It’s just some run-of-the-mill haunted house, a few murders, some rumors about who did or didn’t die within its walls. All par for course. It was TJ’s idea, born out of both understanding the need for safety but also understanding how some fans are clamoring for episodes outside of Ghoul HQ.

So they’re on location, in the master bedroom where _of course_ the previous head of house is said to have killed his lover before killing himself, when the door slams shut and an unnatural chill fills the room.

Immediately, Ryan steps closer to Shane. They haven’t started filming yet, only scoping out the room for the best spots to set up some cameras, so Indy is strapped to Ryan’s chest in the Babybjörn. Shane’s hand comes up to rest on Ryan’s back and his fingers dig in slightly as he grips the fabric of Ryan’s hoodie.

“It’s probably nothing,” Shane says, sounding the furthest from certain Ryan’s ever heard him. “Hey, Teej?” he hollers at the closed bedroom door. TJ and Mark and Devon should be on the other side, but there’s no answer.

“Shane,” Ryan says. “This isn’t good.”

“It’s gonna be fine.” Shane’s arm curls around Ryan almost protectively. He’s looking around the room—not frantic but not exactly calm, either. Ryan’s too busy watching Shane’s gaze flit about to notice the brush against his arm. Ryan’s too busy tucking himself closer against Shane, arms wrapped tight around Indy, to notice the shadow curling around their feet. Ryan’s too busy listening to his own heavy breathing to hear Indy’s delicate whine.

Ryan’s _not_ too busy to notice the moment Indy floats up and out of the Babybjörn.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ryan says, at first thinking it’s all Indy’s doing. He reaches up to grab Indy but something jerks the mothbaby away, and it’s then that Ryan catches sight of the inky black tendrils curled around Indy’s body. Not tight—Indy doesn’t seem too distressed _yet_ , although Ryan isn’t sure how much of that is just a lack of fear and how much is just some sort of confidence in him and Shane—but menacing all the same.

“Shane,” Ryan hisses. He takes a step away to reach for Indy again, only for whatever’s holding it to move backwards as well.

“Ryan, careful,” Shane says from behind him. “We don’t know how to fight this thing.” He comes up next to Ryan and gently pushes him back. “My arms are longer,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice. It does nothing to soothe the jackhammering in Ryan’s chest. “It’ll be fine.” Shane says it softer this time, almost more to himself than anything.

Shane faces the splotchy shadowy creature; it’s not quite corporeal, not quite solid. It seems to flicker in and out of existence, and the only part that stays visible is the clawed hands curled around Indy’s little body. The hands hold its wings to its sides and Indy stays stock still in the pitch-black grasp.

“It’s okay, Indy.” Shane speaks low and slow. He inches closer to the black figure. “It’s okay, little dude.”

The inky fingers flex around Indy’s body and tug it away yet again. The next few seconds happen in a blur.

Ryan’s aware of the creak of a floorboard. He looks down at the wooden floors, and the distinct sight of sunlight streaming over Shane’s ghoul-hunting boots will probably be weirdly seared into his memory forever. He follows the length of Shane’s legs up to his tense and concerned expression as he reaches for Indy again and again, the shadowy figure backing out of Shane’s reach each time.

The floorboard creaks again and then there’s a deafening _snap_ as, impossibly, the floorboards give way under Shane’s weight.

Ryan doesn’t even have time to open his mouth to shout or scream. Dust erupts from the floor and obscures his vision; he can faintly see Shane’s red-and-black-plaid flitting through the dusty air, and he can hear a thud followed by a groan. Ryan’s almost certain he hears a pained and angry _hiss_ that seems to fill the room from all angles before it vanishes and leaves his ears ringing.

Ryan rushes forward and barely stops himself at the edge of broken floorboards. The dust is clearing and he’s coughing, waving a hand around to clear the air. His eyes sting as he forces himself to focus.

 _It’s not a big house_ , Ryan thinks to himself, trying to quell the panic. _Shane couldn’t have fallen that far_. Ryan casts a quick glance around but sees no sign of Indy or the shadowy figure. His heart clenches in his chest and tears are welling up in his eyes for reasons other than the fucking ridiculous amounts of dust.

“Shane?” he calls out, his voice more of a croak. Ryan drops carefully to his knees to try and see better. Every breath he takes makes his chest go tighter but the air finally seems to be clearing, and Ryan can just barely make out a lumpy dark form five feet below. Ryan tries to shout Shane’s name again but it lodges in his throat, thick and as big as a fucking baseball.

It’s not a far drop, and it looks like Shane’s fallen into some kind of closet or dinky little side room. Ryan wrestles out of the Babybjörn then scoots closer to the edge and lets one foot dangle over; the wood is broken off and he can feel it catching on the back of his jeans. He ignores it, ignores the splinters starting to prick the palms of his hands, and eases himself closer and closer. He twists as both legs go over the edge and he levers himself down, biceps shaking with the strain.

It’s a little further than he thought; he realizes this when he extends his arms, fingers still desperately curled around jagged edges of wood, and his feet don’t brush the ground. Ryan casts a hasty look downward, swallows, and lets himself drop.

It can’t be more than two feet but shocks of almost-pain run up his shins and he collapses under his own weight; his knees hit the floor with a _crack_ and he hisses in pain. He’s still trying to even out his breathing and ignore the throbbing in his kneecaps and calves when a faint groan catches his attention.

His stomach lurches and he looks around wildly for the same black, shadowy figure from before. There’s nothing, and Ryan’s gaze lands on Shane, instead.

Shane, who’s still face down in a pile of broken wood. His back rises and falls with the rhythm of breathing, at least, and Ryan lets out a choked up, relieved sigh. He scrambles over to Shane, kicking his way through debris until he can crash-land on his knees once more, this time at Shane’s side.

“Shane?” Ryan hisses, gently prodding at Shane’s shoulder. “Shane, are you okay?” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, tries again only for his voice to die in his throat. The tears, which had dried up during his climb, return with a vengeance. “I swear to fucking god, Shane, if you die—”

“I’m not dead,” Shane croaks with his face still pressed to the floor. He sits up slightly and it unsettles the coating of dust on his back. “We’re not dead.” Achingly slow, Shane sits up and winces as he goes; Ryan’s breathing stops dead in his chest. There, cradled ever so carefully in Shane’s arms, unmoving, is Indy. One red eye opens, then the other, and a soft trill fills the space between them.

“You—?” Ryan doesn’t care that the tears are drifting down his cheeks, he doesn’t care that he and Shane are covered in dust and dirt; he doesn’t care that he can hear the site supervisor, and Devon, and TJ, and Mark running towards them, a hallway away.

Ryan rises to his knees and braces one hand on Shane’s shoulder as he leans in and kisses him. It’s dry and musty and Ryan’s entire body is shaking with adrenaline and fear and pain. He pulls back to let out a shuddering breath and Shane meets him halfway the next time. One of Shane’s arms must uncurl from Indy because in the next second there’s a hand gently touching at Ryan’s cheek, pushing streaks of dirt away from his skin and muddling tear tracks.

“Ry,” Shane breathes when the kiss breaks a second time.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking scare me like that again,” Ryan hisses before kissing him once more.

Indy chirps between them and Ryan pulls away laughing. “Hey, hey, kiddo, it’s okay.” He reaches out and scoops Indy from Shane’s arms and cradles the mothbaby close. “We’re okay,” he says softly. When he looks up, Shane’s staring at him with an exhausted smile—but a smile nonetheless.

Shane and Ryan cut the shoot short and go back to Ryan’s apartment. They barely take the time to strip down to pajamas before they’re crawling into bed together, Indy between them as always and never more than a foot away. Ryan lays on his side and Shane faces him; when Ryan lays a hand over Indy’s tummy—the mothbaby dozes off quickly, just as tuckered out as Ryan feels—Shane lays his hand over Ryan’s and gently tangles their fingers.

 “So…” Shane starts. “That was...some shit.”

Ryan, despite everything, laughs.

“That’s one way to put it.” He tightens his fingers around Shane’s. “Are  
we.” He stops and swallows. “Is this a thing, now?”

Shane’s stare is supremely unimpressed. “A _thing_? Really, Ryan?” He inches a little closer and the proximity forces their legs to tangle. “Yes, this is a _thing_ , now. We’re a _thing._ ”

“Shut up,” Ryan says through soft laughter. “I just mean…are we dating?”

“I’d sure like to be,” Shane replies sarcastically. “I don’t know what you’re looking for here, exactly. But I’m…” Shane finally looks away as his words fade. Ryan stares at his twisting expression, the curve of his lips shifting between confused and bemused and exasperated. “I want to date, Ryan. We’re grownups. We’ve technically been _raising a kid together_.”

Ryan’s cheeks and ears burn. “I know that, I just.” He stops. “I just didn’t ever expect this, is all.” He can’t look at Shane with this embarrassment softly coursing through him. He and Shane have done more ridiculous things than confess their feelings to each other, and yet Ryan’s never wanted the world to swallow him up more than now. He presses his face against his pillow and watches the rise and fall of Indy’s breathing instead.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Shane asks.

“Why didn’t you?” Ryan counters. He rubs his thumb along Indy’s fur.

Shane shakes his head, the gesture a mixture of fond and exasperated. “I was scared too, you know.” Shane’s face is all mushed against his pillow and it’s _endearing_. Ryan swallows, his heart thudding. “Still pretty scared, if I’m being honest.”

Ryan laughs shakily. “Yeah. I don’t—I don’t know what Mothman expects us to do, now.” Ryan dips his head slightly to brush his nose along Indy’s head. He inhales slowly and even though Indy doesn’t really smell like much (aside from, currently, dust from the shoot) Ryan takes comfort in the soft fur against his skin and the feeling of Indy breathing. It makes him think of when he sees people pressing their faces against a baby’s head, inhaling intently—Ryan’s always thought it was kind of weird but he thinks he gets it now.

“Maybe we should give him a call.”

“Go _back_ to Point Pleasant?” Ryan asks, coming out of his Indy-induced daze. “That…doesn’t feel smart.”

Shane shrugs. “It’s not like Mothman has a phone we can call.”

“Maybe he’ll come to one of us in a dream again.”

Shane’s lips twist uncomfortably as he says, “Yeah, maybe.”

Shane quickly redirects the conversation; it’s strange but natural at the same time, easy to be led by Shane like this.

“I’d…” Shane’s blushing. A rare sight, something Ryan knows he ought to relish. “I’m gonna kiss you, now.”

Ryan tilts his head in invitation, and then Shane leans over Indy to press his shaking lips to Ryan’s. The kiss is like the ones at the house: shaky, a little unsteady, but warm and present, enough to make Ryan’s head spin. He shifts closer, too, and tilts his head again to deepen the kiss. Shane opens his mouth and licks into Ryan’s; the kiss is slow but heated, like a simmering pot. Ryan can feel a whine rising in the back of his throat as Shane’s tongue slides across his own.

The kiss breaks with identical, breathless gasps.

Shane’s eyes are shut as he presses his forehead to Ryan’s, and says, “If Indy weren’t here right now…”

Ryan swallows. For a second, his fingers tighten too much around Shane’s, until Shane inhales sharply. Ryan lets go and runs his fingertips over Shane’s knuckles. When the worst of the pounding heat has passed, Ryan links their fingers again.

Ryan thinks of a million things he could say: something comforting, maybe, or funny to break the tension. He wants to erase the crease between Shane’s eyebrows and the pulling lines around his mouth as he frowns.

Ryan leans in again, mindful of Indy between them, and lands a kiss at the corner of Shane’s mouth. “We’ll figure it out.”

Shane turns slightly and kisses him firmer, deeper. “Yeah,” Shane says softly. His voice sounds slurred and drowsy, and Ryan can feel his own eyes drooping. “We will.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This whole thing is weird, Ryan,” Shane says. It seems almost instinctual, and he hurries to add, “but yes, that is strange. I guess. All things considered.”

It becomes very clear very quickly that the demon isn’t happy with being thwarted. Privately, to himself, Ryan imagines it’s got to be pretty humiliating from a demon’s perspective. Beat by a gangly, big-headed human that just got lucky on a flying leap—because Shane swears that’s all he did. He just jumped and reached for Indy and for whatever reason, the demon let go.

For the two days following the shoot, which Ryan and Shane take off, nothing happens. Ryan’s apartment is blissfully still, and trips to the grocery store are wonderfully devoid of demonic activity. It’s hard not to fall into a false sense of security; in the back of his mind, Ryan knows that the other shoe needs to drop sometime. It’s just too easy to live out two full days without panic and fear.

They go back to work on a Thursday to find an intern shuffling nervously around their desks. Ryan shoots a worried look at Shane who aims one right back at him. Shane steps forward with Ryan at his heels, Indy in the Babybjörn strapped to Ryan’s chest.

“What’s up?” Shane asks cautiously.

The intern startles even though he’s been watching them approach for a few minutes now. “Uh, so, it was a total accident. But.” He stops and looks back at their computers. “We’re not sure what happened but, uh,” he stammers.

“But what?” Ryan asks as he comes up behind Shane and peers around the big guy’s shoulder. The computers don’t _look_ dangerous or rigged or anything else. They just look like computers.

“I was carrying some coffees and tripped and I could’ve sworn none of the coffee got _on_ the computers but, but they’re totally fried.”

Ryan blinks. “What?”

“The computers, they’re just—they’re fried. IT is gonna come in, they’re pretty sure they can salvage stuff on the hard drive, but they’re not positive.”

Ryan looks up at Shane while the intern keeps babbling, “I could’ve _sworn_ the coffee only landed, like, on the keyboards!”

“It’s fine,” Shane cuts across. “Skedaddle, kid, c’mon.” Shane steps around him to fall into his chair which seems to be mercifully free of coffee. Ryan nods politely at the intern and does the same.

“Skedaddle, really?” Ryan asks once the intern is gone. It’s clear the office is giving them a wide berth, and it’s as appreciated as it is awkward.

Shane shrugs with only the faintest twist of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “The youth these days,” he replies.

Ryan shakes his head and looks at the dark screen of the computer. “What’re we gonna do?”

“Well, the research team has to have stuff saved, right? And you have stuff on your laptop. We can probably get a couple episodes out. Last shoot was a bust but maybe we can salvage something.” Shane lays a hand on his arm before trailing his fingertips down to take Ryan’s hand.

“This demon is playing dirty.”

Shane doesn’t even argue—really, they have no way of knowing for sure that this is even the demon’s doing. But it’s an easy enough leap to make, and Ryan’s glad he doesn’t have to argue his point. Shane just squeezes his hand.

It only gets worse from there, _rapidly_.

Shane’s landlord calls him the day after the computer incident to tell him his apartment’s been broken into. _“It doesn’t look like anything was stolen,”_ she tells him, _“but they really did some damage.”_ He and Ryan show up to see the door busted off its hinges and any remaining things Shane had left there upended and thrown around. It’s then that Shane tells his landlord he’d like to end his lease early, no of course it’s nothing to do with the break-in, it’s just that he has somewhere else to stay, thanks so much.

It’s only natural that Ryan’s apartment is next. He even puts up a line of salt at all the doorways and looks up various spells and incantations and whatever else he can think of to protect his place; nothing works. His apartment doesn’t end up looking quite so trashed; it looks more like the demon was searching for something, probably Indy, instead of just gunning for revenge like it was with Shane’s place.

It’s harder to sleep after Ryan’s apartment is attacked. Most nights, Ryan lays in bed flat on his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to keep his breathing under control. Sometimes Shane wakes up and lays a hand on his arm, other times Shane lays as stock-still as Ryan does, and they quietly freak the fuck out together.

All the while, Indy seems concerned but not _too_ concerned. Ryan’s not sure if it’s just blinding confidence in his and Shane’s protection skills, or if it’s just some youthful ignorance. Indy’s happy and chirping and doesn’t seemed weighed down by worry or panic the way Ryan feels. It’s nice—nothing cheers him up more than seeing Indy bobbing through the air, usually aimless. Nothing’s better than watching the mothbaby toddle around his living room, with Shane tucked close along Ryan’s side.

They end up getting more baby accessories, namely a couple baby monitors and nanny cams to leave throughout the house. They keep one of each in the living room at all times, have a spare set in the kitchen and a monitor in the bathroom, and one stays in the bedroom. Ryan keeps a receiver on him at all times and checks the nanny cam app on his phone obsessively.

It’s rare that Indy is left alone, but sometimes Ryan’s seeing his family and Shane just _has_ to pee, or Ryan’s got to go grab the mail and the lady downstairs always tries to pinch Indy’s cheeks, and Shane is out getting groceries. So nothing’s happened in those brief moments yet, but each time Ryan’s heart rate skyrockets to dangerous levels; the baby monitors help him feel a little less terrified.

(Once or twice, when the panic has lessened and things seem safe, Ryan and Shane maybe use the baby monitor in a different way. Maybe, just _maybe_ they leave Indy swaddled up and asleep on its favorite couch cushion, and maybe they slip into Ryan’s— _their_ —bedroom and _try_ to fool around. It’s something easy, it feels good, it takes their mind off everything else, so sue them.)

(Besides, every time, without fail, Indy wakes up screeching and it’s a mad dash to get back to the living room looking as presentable as possible to scoop Indy up and soothe its wailing cries.)

They almost manage to get used to some crazy things, like broken mirrors and torn apart books and mysteriously vanishing SD cards, when things get worse. _Again._

It starts when TJ comes into the office with his wrist in a plain black brace. Immediately Ryan’s stomach sinks like a stone and he shoots a worried glance at Shane. Shane stands up and leaves their desks to make a beeline for TJ, who’s already surrounded by other coworkers. Ryan follows after a beat with Indy on his hip.

“Just took a bad trip down the stairs,” TJ is saying as Ryan approaches. Shane has managed to work his way to the front of the slight crowd and he reaches back to tug Ryan closer.

“At home?” Ryan asks.

TJ nods. “I was trying to move some boxes around for the nursery and, well.” He shrugs and grimaces. “Could’ve been worse. I managed to catch myself on the bannister at the last second.”

“Sounds a lot like that shoot from a couple months ago,” Shane says. His voice is perfectly even but the look he gives Ryan is anything but calm. “When Ryan fell.”

“I was thinking that too.” TJ nods along. “Weird, right?”

Ryan’s arm around Indy tightens. “Yeah,” he replies. “Weird.”

After that, it’s Kelsey I. Nothing too serious ( _that’d be too suspicious,_ Ryan thinks, feeling sick) just a twisted ankle during a workout gone wrong. Just like TJ’s, it could’ve been a lot worse. After Kelsey is Jen, then Steven, Mark, Devon. The attacks spread through the Buzzfeed office with devastating quickness, like a forest fire, with a few attacks on Shane and Ryan thrown in just to keep things sickeningly familiar.

Then Ryan gets a call.

“Mom?” Ryan balances the phone between his ear and shoulder as he throws some chicken into the pan in front of him. Shane’s out in the living room with Indy, but he’s soon at the threshold of the kitchen, watching Ryan curiously. “What’s up?” Ryan tries to wave Shane off, but the other man doesn’t budge.

_“It’s Jake.”_

Ryan nearly drops his fucking cellphone right into the pot with the sauce. Shane is at his side in an instant and Indy’s cooing, distressed. “What? What happened?”

“What happened?” Shane echoes; Ryan waves him away and ignores the frown that graces Shane’s face as he takes a step back.

 _“He’s alright, now. He was in a car accident. Came out of it with a broken leg and a concussion.”_ On the other end of the line, his mother sniffles. _“He’s okay,”_ she repeats.

“What hospital are you guys at? I can head over.” Ryan’s already reaching to turn off the burners on the stove and trying to remember where he put his keys. Shane tries to take him by the elbow but Ryan shrugs out of the grasp. “Mom, where?”

 _“It’s okay, it’s alright. You don’t need to come over right now. Visiting hours are almost over anyway. I’ll text you the hospital and room number, come by in the morning, okay?”_ She takes a shuddering breath, and a hiccup catches in his mom’s throat. _“He’s really fine,”_ she says, sounding more like she’s reassuring herself than Ryan. _“It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”_

Ryan bites his tongue on saying something like _yeah I bet it’s not._ Instead, he says, “Okay, mom. I’m gonna be over first thing in the morning.”

He talks with her for a few more minutes, picking up details of Jake’s accident in between his mother losing and gaining her composure. He hangs up feeling unsettled, like his legs can’t hold him up any longer. He doesn’t even realize he’s stumbling until Shane’s right behind him, an arm looped around his waist.

Ryan’s first instinct is to fight off the touch—he still has half a mind to drive to the hospital tonight—but the longer Shane holds him the more the urge dissipates. Before long, Ryan twists in Shane’s hold and tucks his face against Shane’s neck.

“What happened?” Shane asks when Ryan’s stopped sniffling.

“Jake had a car accident. He’s okay, but it wasn’t great.” Ryan doesn’t move except to drop a hand to Indy, who immediately nuzzles at his palm. “I’m gonna go in the morning.”

“Of course, yeah. Want me to come with?”

Ryan considers the offer. “Indy, though.”

Shane hums. “Yeah. Think it’d be too weird?”

“I don’t know if it’d be safe. And I don’t…I don’t want my family getting too attached to Indy.”

“You really think we’re gonna lose Indy?” Shane asks, the edge in his voice sharp.

“No, no,” Ryan shakes his head fervently. “Not to this demon, or anything. I mean, maybe. Sure feels like we’re not doing a great job of keeping ourselves _or_ Indy safe. But—Mothman is gonna want Indy back someday, right?”

Shane purses his lips. “Yeah,” he agrees in a flat tone. “I’ll stay home with Indy tomorrow. Or, maybe I can drive you? Indy and I can kill time around town or something.”

“You sure? Might be a while.”

Shane kisses him. It’s still sort of a novel feeling, Shane’s lips on his. Ryan’s never had to crane his neck to kiss someone the way he does with Shane; it’s not something he really hates, either. He sighs into the kiss and follows Shane when the other man pulls away.

“I’d feel better,” Shane says, a little breathless, “if I was with you during the drive. Especially since the whole reason you’re going to the hospital in the first place is because of a car accident.”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, okay. Maybe we can, like, grab dinner, or something.” He gives Shane a hesitant smile and Shane bends to kiss him again. Between their chests, Indy chirps and trills until Shane lifts it up and Ryan presses a gentle kiss to Indy’s furred head. “S’okay, little dude, we didn’t forget about you.”

Indy wriggles in Shane’s hands, pleased, and _thwaps_ an antenna against Ryan’s cheek.

Ryan steps back and returns to the stove, turning the burners back to the appropriate settings. From the corner of his eye he watches Shane lift Indy a little higher and nuzzle against its stomach; he doesn’t let Indy’s flailing, kicking legs stop him and Indy screeches with delight, wings flapping.

Ryan lets the sight soothe him, even as anxiety rumbles like a dying fire in his gut.

Ryan finds himself reluctant to leave the car the next morning, outside the hospital. Shane throws the car into park and offers half a dozen times to come in with Ryan, points out that Indy could probably make Ryan’s family think they’re seeing something _other_ than an interdimensional infant cryptid. Ryan sits in silence, one hand tangled with Shane’s and the other stroking over Indy’s fur, until eventually he shakes his head.

“No, I’ll go in. It’ll be fine.”

Shane nods. “I’ll be around, I’ll keep my phone turned up. Just call me when you’re ready to go.” Shane leans over the center console and kisses Ryan softly. It’s almost too soft to bear, a reminder of all the things that have gone awry lately. Ryan breaks the kiss with a final nip at Shane’s bottom lip and relishes the laugh that Shane gives him.

“Go,” Shane tells him. “Just text or call if you need me, okay?”

“Of course.” Ryan drops a kiss to the top of Indy’s head before letting Indy reappear in the car seat again. Ryan clambers out of the car. He waves at Shane as the car backs out and drives off, and then Ryan shoves his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt and starts off toward the hospital lobby. His palms start to sweat the minute he loses sight of Shane’s car.

His time spent with his family isn’t what he would call _great_. It hurts, seeing Jake laid up—a broken leg and a concussion, just like his mom said, that’s all—and it hurts seeing his parents so upset over everything and knowing that in a way, it’s Ryan’s fault. It aches, deep in his chest and at the back of his head like an oncoming headache, and by the time Ryan walks back out of the hospital, he feels at once drained and determined.

Shane’s parked just outside, waiting for him when the time comes. Ryan slips into the front passenger seat and waits until Shane gets back onto the main road before speaking.

“We gotta stop this fucking thing.” Sure, they’ve said it before; sure, they’ve been trying. But this time, as Ryan says it, he _believes_ it—believes that they will.

Shane doesn’t say anything. He looks over at Ryan, who meets his gaze with an air of defiance, his chin stuck out. Shane nods. He starts up the car again, and Ryan turns to reach into the backseat and run a hand over Indy’s furry head. Indy nuzzles into his palm, and Ryan almost wants to have Indy in his lap.

Instead, he murmurs, “Stay in the seat, okay?” before turning around in his seat again.

Ryan reaches for his phone in his pocket. It’s not the first time he’s googled _how to ward off demons_ , probably won’t be the last, but his hands haven’t shaken this bad since they got back from the Sallie House.

He bookmarks a few pages, makes a few mental notes, then pockets his phone and lays his head against the glass.

“It’s gonna be okay, Ryan,” Shane says softly. From the backseat, Indy trills in agreement.

Ryan nods. “Yeah. It’s gotta be.”

Shane shoots him a small grin and reaches out one hand; Ryan takes it and links their fingers together.

Two days later, Ryan drops a stack of papers onto his—okay, okay, _their_ —coffee table. From the couch, Shane looks up. Beside him, Indy peers curiously with its bright red eyes at the papers, then at Ryan.

“Have you slept at all since the hospital?” Shane asks, even though he knows the answer. Ryan had dutifully crawled into bed with Shane and Indy both nights since the trip to see Jake; he didn’t sleep, though. Instead he stayed up compiling research, and while he feels drained, he feels weirdly invigorated, too.

“We’re gonna figure this out. Starting now.” He taps the top of the stack of paper.

“You couldn’t just email me this stuff?”

Ryan blinks. “I didn’t think about that.”

Shane snorts and gestures Ryan closer. Ryan steps around the coffee table and lets Shane reach for him, take his hand, tug him onto the couch to Shane’s left. Indy peeks around Shane’s side to watch them both intently. “You need to sleep.”

“Not yet. I took a power nap this morning.”

Shane’s brow furrows. “In the _shower_?”

“No,” Ryan says. _Maybe_ , he thinks. He’s not totally sure, in all honesty. But that’s not what’s important. “Look, I’ve already got the stack divided into stuff you can look at, stuff I can cover, and papers Indy can play with, so let’s just _do this_ , okay?”

At the mention of its name, Indy chirps and scrambles for Shane’s lap. Its wings flap and smack against Shane as Indy wriggles onto his lap, across it, and falls into Ryan’s waiting arms.

“Yeah, bud, you wanna help us out, huh?” Ryan smirks at Shane.

“Just cuz Indy picks your side doesn’t mean you’re _right_.” Even so, Shane turns to the stack of papers and starts to rifle through them. He thumbs until he hits the divider marked SHANE with a drawing of a hot dog beside it, and snorts. It’s just under halfway through the stack and he passes the rest back to Ryan. “You still need to sleep.”

Ryan shrugs and grins down at Indy as he hands a paper over to the mothbaby, who immediately makes it float. Neither he or Shane get to work immediately on digging through the research, partly because Ryan’s already pored over most of it, and partly because Indy’s a much more enjoyable thing to watch.

Especially as it starts to fold the paper, and not just aimlessly. Ryan looks up and arches an eyebrow at Shane who only shrugs in response. Ryan and Shane watch, silent, as Indy works on the paper. Indy’s silent too, big red eyes narrowed in concentration and antennae flicking occasionally.

“Is that a heart?” Shane asks.

Indy chirps and sends the heart flying at Shane. It bounces off his sternum and drops into his open hand. Ryan instinctively gives another piece of paper to Indy and watches the same thing happen again, a little quicker this time. The second heart floats into Ryan’s waiting hand and Indy trills, twitching one antenna in his direction.

“Did you—?” Ryan starts at the same time Shane says, “When did Indy—?”

They both stop, staring at each other.

“I didn’t teach it anything. I can’t even do origami,” Ryan says.

“Me neither.” Shane turns the paper heart over in his palm with a small smile. “Maybe Indy has been taking after you, staying up late to mess around on a phone.”

Ryan snorts. He curls his fingers around the paper heart and holds it tight enough that the corners dig into his hand. “Good job, little dude,” he says softly.

Shane leans over and plants a loud, exaggerated kiss to the top of Indy’s head between his antennae. Indy chirps, delighted, and Ryan can see Shane grin. Shane lifts his head and seamlessly leans in to kiss Ryan, too. Ryan kisses back, tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss just slightly before they both pull back.

“Alright,” Shane declares. “Let’s do this. Let’s get this bread.”

“Oh my god,” Ryan hisses even as laughter bubbles up in his chest. “I hate you.”

“So I was thinking,” Shane says a few days later as they eat lunch. Or rather, as Shane eats and nudges Ryan’s burrito closer to him.

Ryan’s covered almost all of their desk space in papers about exorcising demons and similar topics and he’s deep in research. Indy’s strapped to his chest in the Babybjörn. When Ryan looks up, he feels ever so faintly like Charlie Day, and he lets out a slightly hysterical laugh that has Shane’s eyes widening, concerned.

“You need to sit down, dude.” Shane nods to where Ryan has one knee braced on the table as he reaches for an article just out of reach at the other edge. “And eat. _Please_.”

Ryan freezes while trying to grab the paper and slinks into his seat, belatedly realizing how tired he is. Mentally, emotionally, physically—all of it. He feels wrung out and even lifting his hand for his burrito is exhausting. Shane helps by nudging the plate a little closer, so he doesn’t have to reach quite as far.

Shane waits until Ryan’s eaten a bite or four before speaking again. “I was thinking, maybe we should make, like. A scrapbook.”

Ryan nods along as he chews. “Of…Indy?”

Shane pins him with a _look_. An _I love you but you’re such an idiot sometimes_ look.

“Sue me, I’m exhausted.”

Shane’s expression softens. “I know. I thought maybe the scrapbook could be a nice break from all this.” He gestures to the papers strewn everywhere. “Just us, Indy, picking out our favorite pics and whatever.”

Ryan chews thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He passes a piece of tomato to Indy who makes it vanish with a small pop; Ryan still isn’t totally sure if Indy is actually _eating_ things when it does that. All Ryan knows is if Indy doesn’t get to do it a handful of times a day—preferably with leaves, sometimes with other foods, like tomatoes—it gets cranky. And the last thing Ryan needs right now is a cranky Indy.

“Why don’t I take Indy for a bit? I’ll leave your Pepe Silvia board as it is, you go find a room to crash-nap in.” Shane holds out his arms as he speaks and waggles his fingers in a “gimme” sort of gesture.

Ryan slows his chewing. “I’m fine,” he says around a mouthful of burrito.

Shane tilts his head. “You haven’t slept through the night in how long? And you got into work _before_ me this morning. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Ryan had left a note; it’s not like he left Shane totally clueless. “Sorry,” he says, wincing. He hadn’t really been thinking. Or at least, not about Shane. He’d been thinking about the long tables that BuzzFeed is full of and how easy it’d be to look over all the info he’s compiled so far. He was sure, at six this morning, that laying everything out at work was the key to figuring this whole thing out.

Ryan only realizes he’s finished his burrito when Shane clears his throat, narrowly keeping Ryan from biting down on his empty fingertips. “Whoops.”

“Uh huh,” Shane drawls, and Ryan can’t really argue with almost taking a bite out of his own fingers in a daze.

“Okay, okay, fine.” He stands up and Shane mirrors him. Shane holds Indy as Ryan gets out of the Babybjörn, and then they switch. Ryan holds Indy and helps get the mothbaby situated once Shane is wearing it instead. Ryan’s keenly aware of their coworkers watching them while pretending not to, and the tips of his ears burn a little bit.

Shane kisses his forehead abruptly, and Ryan’s blush spreads to his cheeks. “Go get some rest. I’ll come get you if you don’t wake up before we leave.”

Ryan nods, pats Indy’s head, and then he’s off, less reluctant with every step. He really is exhausted, and as much as he hates being away from Indy—and okay, Shane, too—these days, he knows it’s needed. He feels worse than when he did the five-hour sleep video, and that’s saying something.

Ryan wanders until he nearly bumps into someone.

“Hey,” Steven says, steadying Ryan when he tilts too far one direction. “Jesus, you look…bad.”

“Thanks, Lim, you’re a real pal.”

“The boardroom on fifth is empty until four,” Steven says in lieu of a comeback. “It’s the one with the really nice couch.”

Ryan sighs. “Well shit, I guess you really _are_ a pal, huh?”

Steven only beams at him and waves him off.

Ryan manages to get to the fifth floor without too much trouble; most people he passes are happy with a wave and a grin, or maybe his exhaustion is just so apparent no one wants to force him to talk. He’s fine either way. He makes it to the boardroom Steven was talking about (there’s even a helpful sticky note on the door reading “ **FREE UNTIL 4** ” in thick letters) and all but falls onto the couch once he’s inside.

It _is_ a nice couch, plush and soft and Ryan’s out before he even thinks about it.

 

He opens his eyes but otherwise, he can’t move. He’s lying on his side, his head pillowed on his arm and one hand, and in front of him is the same black, shadowy mass that tried to take Indy on their last shoot. It’s just as ominous and shapeless as before and it doesn’t even seem to have noticed Ryan. Even so, fear trickles down Ryan’s spine. He wants to shout, or at least reach for his phone—maybe tell Shane to get Indy out of the building.

Panic is rising in his throat the longer his body refuses to listen to him, until a deep growl sounds, one that doesn’t come from the demon straight across from Ryan. It’s a familiar sound, almost like Indy’s trills, but pitched lower and more menacing. Ryan doesn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief but his heart slows just a fraction.

Ryan looks to the right, something that takes way too much effort, and sure enough Mothman stands at not-quite his full height by the door of the boardroom. His red eyes are glowing and his wings are flapping. Behind him, the sticky note on the door still reads “ **FREE UNTIL 4** ,” unmoving.

The demon growls this time, and it sounds like static. It chills Ryan to his bones even when Mothman counters it with a roar of his own. Ryan’s not sure if other people can hear this, or if they could even _see_ it, were someone to walk into the room right now.

Ryan still can’t move, but he watches as Mothman advances on the demon, teeth bared. ( _Does Indy have teeth? Will Indy grow teeth?_ Ryan thinks, briefly.) Mothman’s wingspan is enormous but he doesn’t knock over a single chair and doesn’t collide with the table as he approaches. The demon lets out another snarl and backs up rapidly. Its shapeless form pulls and stretches as it moves before snapping back together in a splatter-shape where it floats. It’s inky dark and when Ryan looks away, the figure practically disappears entirely.

A hand lands on Ryan’s shoulder and he wakes with a shout. He blinks, his eyes feel dry, and sees Shane kneeling beside the couch. Indy’s safe in the Babybjörn.

“Everything okay?” Shane asks slowly.

Ryan gasps for air, realizing his lungs are burning. He closes and rubs at his eyes until they’re wet and blinking doesn’t hurt. Once he catches his breath, he looks around the boardroom. It’s empty, save for him and Shane, and nothing is any more out of place than when he entered however long ago.

“You’ve been out for a few hours. They’ve got a meeting in here in twenty, Steven told me where to find you.”

Ryan nods. “I saw it. The demon. And Mothman. They were—they were here.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “What?” He whips around to survey the room, too. “When?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan swings his legs over the edge of the couch and holds his head in his hands. He tries to remember what he saw. “They just—I opened my eyes and they were just _here_. Mothman was gonna attack, I think, but I woke up.”

“They’re gone now, then,” Shane murmurs. Shane looks around the room once more. He stands and holds out a hand to Ryan to help him up. “I _told_ you, you needed to sleep.”

A laugh escapes Ryan, sudden and sharp. “Shut up, Shane.”

At the door to the boardroom, they both stop. Ryan looks at the sticky note, still in the same place. “The sticky note didn’t move.”

“Huh?”

Indy trills suddenly and on instinct, Ryan reaches out to scoop Indy from the Babybjörn and cradle it close. The trilling settles immediately into little snores. Ryan speaks softly.

“This sticky note, it was, I mean. I saw it. And it didn’t move when Mothman flapped his wings. That’s weird, right?”

“This whole thing is weird, Ryan,” Shane says. It seems almost instinctual, and he hurries to add, “but yes, that _is_ strange. I guess. All things considered.”

“What I saw was definitely real.”

“I’m not doubting that.” With a hand on the small of Ryan’s back, Shane directs them toward the elevator. “We already know Mothman can visit our dreams, so…”

“But my eyes were open, I just couldn’t move.”

“Sleep paralysis?” Shane offers as they make it to the elevator. “Your eyes weren’t open when I got to the room. You were sleeping like normal.”

Ryan strokes Indy’s fur thoughtfully. Even though his nap wasn’t nearly enough to get him out of the “exhausted” column, his brain feels refreshed and his thoughts are ablaze.

“Let’s just get home, start on that scrapbook, and then _sleep_. You need it.”

“When did you buy all this stuff?” Ryan asks once they’re home, as Shane spreads various scrapbooking materials across the coffee table.

“This morning, when you left me in the dust and made me drive _alone_ to work.” Shane’s grinning, and his words land a little softer for it.

“Sorry,” Ryan says again. He stands behind Shane and leans forward to kiss the crown of the other man’s head—something he can do with Shane kneeling by the table. “Did you already print pictures, too?”

“We have _way_ too many pictures between our two phones for me to do that without consulting you first. We gotta reign it in a _little_ bit.”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s quitter talk.” He turns to Indy, who’s floating along beside him and has been since they got inside. “Isn’t that right, little dude?”

Indy chirps and gives one last heaving flap of its wings before appearing in Ryan’s arms with a soft _pop_. While it used to surprise Ryan, by now it’s old news, and Ryan almost _always_ feels ready to catch the mothbaby. It’s just natural to curl his arms into a perfect little basket of sorts, for Indy to rest in.

“I just figured seeing what sort of supplies we have at our disposal might help us pick out pictures. Like this!” Shane reaches out and snatches a little laminated sheet from the table. He holds it out for Ryan to see and points at a specific sticker that reads _baby’s first steps._

Ryan’s ears burn. “Yeah,” he says. “Perfect. We have pics of that.”

Shane grins, half shit-eating and half genuine. He rises with only a little groaning and only one soft crack from a knee and curls an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Indy’s our _baby_.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. He can’t even contest it—not only because it kind of _hurts_ to think about, but because it just doesn’t feel right to argue at this point. Ryan’s still certain Mothman will take Indy back at the end of all this, but that doesn’t change what’s happened so far.

Lips on his forehead bring Ryan from his thoughts. “I’m gonna call for some food,” Shane says. “You guys start picking out some stickers, okay? We can do like, a theme for each page.”

“We’re gonna need more scrapbooks,” Ryan says to Shane’s retreating back.

“That can _easily_ be arranged.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it bad that I almost don’t want to figure this out?” Shane asks, almost conversational in tone except for the slightest quiver.

Ryan’s life boils down to two things, mainly: building the scrapbooks of Indy, and trying to sleep whenever he can, in hopes of seeing Mothman again.

He puts all his demon research aside, because something in his gut tells him it’s the right thing to do. In between going through the literal _hundreds_ of Indy pics on his phone and taking naps, he throws together somewhat hasty videos and pitches to go on BUN until they can finally start shooting properly again. Videos about the creepiest urban legends and terrifying killers from across America—click-baity things that will at least keep BUN alive in the meantime.

The most frustrating part of it all isn’t how much he worries over their channel, or how much he argues with Shane over the _best_ way to compose a baby scrapbook. No, the worst part is that, just like before, Mothman only appears in his dreams randomly, with no discernable rhyme or reason. The demon seems to be hanging back more; there haven’t been as many near death experiences. Instead there have been little things: nipping fingers with scissors or stepping on thumbtacks or close calls with razors. But Ryan can still feel the looming presence, the darkness, and the fact that he can’t feel or see Mothman only heightens his frustration.

His sleep has long since stopped being restful. More often than not he’s too jittery and self-aware to even doze off. Whenever he does finally slip into sleep, it’s light and he’s conscious of it, waiting for Mothman to show up, and then living in disappointment until he forces himself to wake up. He’s more exhausted than he was when he was living in constant fear; this is somehow worse.

It’s one such night that Ryan wakes with a start, breathing heavy. He immediately reaches out for Indy and lets out a soft sigh of relief when his fingers skirt soft fur. He reaches a little further to Shane’s side of the bed and whips his head to the side when he feels only cool sheets. He sits up carefully so as not to disturb Indy and looks around. There’s no light on in the en suite and the door is wide open; Ryan, as his eyes adjust to the darkness, can faintly see himself in the mirror that sits above the sink.

He sighs and slides out of bed, all the while keeping an eye on Indy. The mothbaby doesn’t move other than to breathe. Each exhale brings a soft snore and Ryan finds himself smiling. He slinks around his bedroom and out to the hallway. There’s a soft light coming from the kitchen, and Ryan slows his steps as he gets closer.

He hangs back at the threshold and strains his ears but doesn’t hear anything. No talking, no footsteps. Cautiously, he peeks around the corner to see Shane standing in front of the Keurig, clad only in some low-hanging pajama pants. There’s finally a soft _tink_ as a mug gently hits the kitchen counter, empty.

“Shane?” Ryan asks, his voice scratchy with sleep.

Shane turns and flashes a lazy grin at Ryan. “Hey,” he says, just above a whisper. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Mothman wasn’t showing up.” Ryan moves into the kitchen and wastes no time invading Shane’s space. He tucks himself along Shane’s side and presses his face against Shane’s bare shoulder.

“You still need to sleep,” Shane says, just like he has every time Ryan’s complained about Mothman not showing up.

Ryan groans. “I know.”

Shane shakes his head and reaches out with the arm not wrapped around Ryan’s shoulders to tweak the settings on the Keurig. He places his mug on the little stand and hits _brew_ , and the sounds of the machine plugging away start up.

“Is it bad that I almost don’t want to figure this out?” Shane asks, almost conversational in tone except for the slightest quiver.

“What?” Ryan looks up at him but Shane’s staring intently at the coffee as it brews.

“It’s just…” Shane’s arm tightens around Ryan. “We’re gonna lose Indy regardless. When this is all over. Whether we win or lose.”

Ryan doesn’t respond; he stares intently at the curve of Shane’s jaw as Shane studiously avoids looking at him. He’s thought about it before, of course; how could he not? But he’s never heard Shane voice the same concerns, and that makes it worse. Makes it all the more real.

“That’s why I suggested the scrapbook.” Shane reaches for his coffee when it’s finished and brings it to his lips. The bitter scent is strong in the minimal space between their bodies.

“I’d rather lose Indy to _Mothman_ , than the demon.”

Shane shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. Of course I would rather give Indy up to its actual dad than the fucking thing that wants to destroy it.” Shane takes another long sip. “I just don’t wanna lose Indy, period.”

Ryan presses his face back against Shane’s shoulder. His skin is cold against Ryan’s overheated face. “Me neither.”

Shane tips his head back as he drains the last of his coffee—and it’s _got_ to be too hot, but Shane seems unaffected. He grins again at Ryan and jerks his head toward the bedroom.

“We better get back before Indy wakes up.” Shane sets his mug on the counter again and trails his other hand down Ryan’s arm until he can link their fingers. “And _you_ need to sleep, even if Mothman doesn’t show up.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but when they crawl into bed a few moments later, Indy undisturbed between them, he manages to doze off quickly, and even with a smile in place.

Ryan comes home from a quick run to both Shane and Indy wearing bow ties. He’s barely in the door when he’s greeted by the sight of Shane and Indy on the couch, bow ties around their necks and looking dapper as hell. They also look like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t, which is as funny as it is weird.

“Uh,” Ryan starts.

“Indy, show Ryan the surprise!” Shane says immediately. He stands and gestures to Indy, who’s sitting on the couch with its little legs in front of it. Indy chirps and starts to flap its wings; flying has gotten easier for Indy over the months but it still struggles with taking off. Even so, once Indy is off the couch, the mothbaby makes quick work of the distance between it and Ryan and flies over quick enough to send it careening into Ryan’s chest.

“Uh,” Ryan says again. “What’s the surprise, exactly?”

“How cute we are,” Shane replies. He saunters over to Ryan and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Of course.”

“Of course.” Ryan hides his grin in the tufts of fur at the top of Indy’s head. “And the bow ties?”

“I had a whole photoshoot planned, but you got home sooner than I expected.”

“Felt weird being away,” Ryan explains. “But don’t let me stop you. I gotta shower anyway.” He passes Indy over to Shane, leans up to brush a kiss over Shane’s jaw, then smirks. “You’ve got, I dunno, fifteen, twenty minutes, tops?”

Shane snorts. “That’s plenty. The hardest part was getting Indy into the bow tie.”

“Really?” Ryan asks as he bends to untie his shoes and set them aside with the cluster of his other shoes, all of which have started finding a home near the door rather than put away in his room. “Why?”

Shane shrugs. “No clue, but look how happy it is now!” Shane holds up Indy, who does indeed seem pretty pleased. It flaps its wings and kicks its legs, trilling all the while.

Ryan’s heart thuds in his chest and leans in to kiss Shane again, this time on the mouth, then ruffles Indy’s fur. “I love you guys, you know that, right?”

A beat, then Shane breaks into a grin. “Course we know, huh Indy?”

Indy chirps again, and a kicked-out leg hits Ryan gently on the elbow.

“Good,” Ryan says. “Just making sure.”

 

When he comes out _precisely_ twenty-two minutes later, the bow ties are gone and nothing seems amiss, and Ryan wonders how long he’ll have to wait before he sees the fruits of whatever the photoshoot was.

The next time Mothman appears in Ryan’s dream is just as unexpected as the time before. He’s asleep on the couch at home, he knows that much; he can already feel the crick forming in his neck and the television is playing, both colors and volume muted. Just like last time, he can’t move save for his eyes. Panic starts to well in his throat again. He watches as Mothman stalks across his living room, outside Ryan’s line of sight. He can just barely see the shadow Mothman’s eight-foot frame casts over the walls, but that’s it.

There’s a wretched cry, one that sends shivers down Ryan’s spine. It sounds anguished and deep and he’s not sure if it came from Mothman or the demon—or worse, Indy, or Shane. Ryan knows if he could move, he’d be shaking. As it is, his eyes hurt with the strain it takes to keep them focused on the corner of his vision to his right. He can’t make out anything beyond what the shadows on the off-white walls of his apartment show him, which isn’t much. For all its inky blackness, the demon doesn’t cast an actual visible shadow, and Mothman is so hulkingly large, it’s impossible to distinguish what he’s doing.

A shaky sigh wells up in Ryan’s throat and his eyes grow dry as he refuses to shut them. Last time it was easy to keep his eyes open, to watch what happened before him. Now, with everything just outside his line of sight, his eyes are heavy and tired, and he so desperately wants to shut them.

He’s nearly on the brink of giving in, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing, when another cry sounds out, this time much more haggard. It startles Ryan back into awareness. He doesn’t know _how_ he knows, but if he blinks, he’s positive that this will all vanish before Mothman’s had even a ghost of a chance to take out the demon.

Suddenly, Mothman staggers back in front of Ryan but pays him no mind. His wings are spread wide and they shake; his red eyes glow bright and menacing and Ryan feels a bolt of fear pierce him at the sight. It doesn’t seem to deter the demon, though, since it flies at Mothman with a third screech and collides into the bulk of his chest.

Ryan watches Mothman wrestle with the demon, watches the shadowy black figure slip from between Mothman’s claws to reappear behind him, beside him, before vanishing entirely. Mothman halts in his thrashing and his wings go perfectly still. The antennae atop his head twitch, not all that different from Indy’s.

Then, Mothman looks at Ryan. His red eyes bore into Ryan’s enough to hurt, to have stars dancing over Ryan’s vision, and then he _has_ to shut his eyes.

Ryan opens his eyes to an empty living room. His chest is heaving and his eyes are sore; rubbing at them only makes it worse, and every time he blinks, flashes of the fight take over his thoughts.

Shane meanders out a few minutes later when, at the very least, Ryan’s breathing is under control.

“It happened again,” Ryan says as Shane sits beside him. Indy isn’t in Shane’s arms. “Where’s—?”

“Sleeping, it’s fine. I was putting Indy to bed and came to get you.”

Ryan frowns and reaches for his phone. It’s at his side, having slipped from his sleep-limp hand sometime earlier. “You let me sleep for six fucking hours?”

Shane shrugs. “You needed it. I wasn’t about to wake you when you’ve _finally_ been sleeping without waking up every few minutes.”

Ryan wants to be mad but knows it’s pointless. Not only does he feel essentially useless whether he’s awake or not—well, it _worked_ this time, at least. Shane extends a hand to him and pulls him to stand.

“This still isn’t over, is it?” Shane asks as they start off toward the bedroom. He flicks off the television and lights as he goes, all the while with Ryan trailing along behind him.

“Nope,” Ryan says with a sigh. “Not yet.”

When Ryan’s in the shower and Shane’s popped out for a quick grocery run, Indy disappears.

Ryan’s immediately cautious when he swings a towel around his waist and realizes Indy isn’t on the bed where Ryan left it. It’s their routine: Ryan or Shane showers and if the other isn’t around to watch Indy, Indy gets to sit on its favorite pillow in bed and wait for them. It’s never been an issue, either because Indy just _really_ likes that pillow or because the mothbaby understands how much danger it’s in.

Except for now, because Indy isn’t on the bed and after a cursory, half-naked search of the house, it’s clear that Indy isn’t in the apartment _at all_.

Ryan’s first instinct is to call Shane, but his fingers shake so bad he can barely unlock his phone. He clutches it in his hand, grip white-knuckled, and tries to think clearly, logically—like Shane would. Maybe. Something about Indy seems to send Shane into illogical spirals at the weirdest of times; Ryan thinks it’s just a being-a-parent thing, but he can’t say it isn’t just an Indy-thing.

Ryan sets his phone aside and focuses on getting dressed, first. The last thing he needs is to face down a demon with no pants on. That’s _literally_ one of his worst nightmares. So he gets dressed and pointedly doesn’t think about how he doesn’t know where Indy is for the first time in fuck knows how long. He skips doing his hair or putting on cologne and stumbles back into the living room just as Shane is struggling through the front door.

“One trip or no trip,” Shane says cheerily, arms laden with grocery bags. He hurries into the apartment and past Ryan, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

Ryan walks over to the open door while ignoring Shane’s question. He peers out into the hallway, cranes his neck left and right as if it’ll help him spot Indy. He’s still looking fruitlessly at the hallway when Shane comes up behind him and says, “Ryan?”

“Indy’s gone,” Ryan says.

“What?” The soothing, almost flirty touch Shane had on his hip turns tight and frightened in an instant.

“I came out of the shower, and, and Indy was just _gone_. I’ve tried calling for it and I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find it.” Ryan finally steps back and lets the door swing shut. He doesn’t look at Shane. “I don’t know what happened.” Ryan feels his heart rate pick up, sudden and painful.

“We’ll go looking, we can do a couple trips around the block. Or, or check the roof. Where’s the spirit box? Might be easier to find it using that, cuz Indy can talk to us if it’s hurt—”

Ryan watches as Shane honest to god rambles; the dude’s off to the races with ideas, and he pulls away from Ryan to start looking for the spirit box. Ryan never thought he’d see the day, and any other time it’d be funny. Right now, Ryan’s chest just aches.

“Ryan, c’mon.” Shane’s back is to him, with the spirit box in one hand and his other hand curled around Ryan’s shoulder. He’s somehow managed to get the baby bag together and it seems to be overflowing with all of Indy’s favorite toys and outfits and blankets. “It’s fine. Indy can’t have gone far.”

The statement is patently untrue, but Ryan tries to let it calm him all the same. He nods, blinks away the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, and nods again.

 

They start by doing a couple laps around the block. All the while they leave the spirit box on, even when passing dogs bark and their owners shoot Ryan and Shane confused or nasty looks. By the end of the hour and a half of looking, Ryan kind of, _maybe_ sees why Shane hates the spirit box outside of talking to Indy. To hear _nothing_ but static does end up pretty grating after a while.

“If nothing else,” Ryan says as they start back up to his apartment, “we can definitely say my block isn’t haunted.”

Shane’s smile is more of a grimace.

They ask around the neighbors on Ryan’s floor next, although it’s a little difficult since as far as any of them know, Ryan doesn’t have a kid. They’ve managed to keep Indy _mostly_ under wraps, and anyone who had spotted Indy before either doesn’t live on the same floor or seems to have forgotten about the mothbaby. They don’t leave the spirit box on as they check in with his neighbors, but they get weird looks nonetheless, and by the end of it Ryan’s exhausted and they’re no closer to finding Indy.

“Roof?” Ryan asks as they slip back into his apartment briefly. Shane shrugs off the baby bag to leave it on the couch and then stretches. “Might as well, right?”

“Right.” Shane digs the spirit box out of the bag and then gestures for Ryan to lead the way.

The door at the top of the building never really locks properly, so Ryan only has to wiggle the handle to get it open. The air is chilly and biting up this high, and the slight breeze doesn’t help matters. Ryan slips onto the roof, somewhere he’s only ever been once or twice when he thought it’d be fun, and Shane’s close at his heels.

It’s a wide open and empty space, save for various vents and blocks and other things you see on top of roofs. Nothing exciting.

“Try the spirit box,” Ryan says as he keeps his eyes wide.

Shane does and grimaces again when the static starts up. He holds it out in front of him a bit and says, “Indy? You out here, bud?”

Static fills the empty air around them but Ryan refuses to accept that. He motions for Shane to pass the box over and once it’s in his hand, Ryan starts to walk. His pace is rapid and more than a little frantic as he walks up and down the length of the roof, all the while talking into the spirit box. Shane is a few paces behind and peeks into the more hidden spots and the odd corners of the roof, here and there.

Ryan’s done two laps and is getting dizzy by the time the static cracks and a break of silence interrupts the grating noise. He stops walking so abruptly, Shane slams into his back and they both stumble; for a split second, Ryan thinks how ironic it would be to send themselves careening over the edge of a building when the demon’s been trying its damnedest to get rid of them. They’re nowhere near the edge when they stumble, though.

“Indy?” Ryan tries again. His voice is going hoarse.

_“Ry—Ryan—Sha—”_

“We’re here, little dude,” Ryan says. He holds the spirit box closer as though it’ll help. “Where are you?”

Underneath the faint rattling of the spirit box, Ryan hears a soft trill. “Indy’s here,” he tells Shane, who nods.

“Indy, c’mon out,” Shane hollers. He doesn’t aim his request at the spirit box so much as he half-shouts it.

_“I’m—sorry—didn’t—mean for—”_

“No, no, Indy, come on.” Ryan starts to look around again, turning rapidly in place. “We’re not mad, we just wanna make sure you’re okay. Come on back.”

Ryan looks over his shoulder at Shane, who doesn’t even seem to be _breathing_.

Then there’s a faint _pop_ , and the spirit box crinkles again before, _“You—got hurt.”_

Ryan nearly drops the fucking spirit box in his haste to whip around, because he knows, _he just knows_ , Indy is behind them.

Sure enough, the mothbaby floats just behind Ryan’s back. Shane turns too, and Indy twitches an antenna his way.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ryan breathes.

 

They end up back in Ryan’s apartment in record time. They leave the spirit box running on the coffee table, and wordlessly cram together onto one couch cushion with Indy cradled in their laps. Indy looks up at them, then away, as if sheepish.

“We’re not mad, Indy,” Ryan says again. He reaches out and pets Indy’s head, something he didn’t realize he could miss so much in just a few hours. “We were just worried.”

 _“Thought—if I left—might be—better—”_ spits out from the spirit box.

“No,” Shane says but his tone is anything except firm. It shakes, just like his hand as he reaches out to pet Indy too. “Definitely _not_ better, kiddo.”

Indy blinks.

_“—Sorry—”_

“It’s okay. We’re just glad you’re safe.” Ryan lets his eyes slip shut. “We…we don’t know when your dad will take you back, so we just wanna keep you as safe as possible till then, right? And…and we wanna spend as much time with you as we can.”

Shane nods.

The spirit box shuts off suddenly, and Indy wriggles closer to hide its face against them. The living room is starkly silent in the absence of static.

“We gotta make the most of the time we’ve got,” Shane says. His face pulls in a weird expression, something Ryan can only feel from how Shane’s pressed his face to Ryan’s hair. “God, that’s so morbid. We’re not gonna let anything hurt you, little dude.”

Indy trills softly and burrows closer still.

“You’re right, though,” Ryan says when Indy starts to snore a few minutes later.

Shane’s sigh ruffles Ryan’s hair. “I know.”

It figures, then, that just two days later everything comes to a head.

 

 

Ryan wakes in bed, paralyzed entirely except for his darting eyes. He can feel, faintly, the warmth of Indy and Shane beside him. He wants to scream at them to _run_ , to get Indy out of here—because Mothman is nowhere to be seen. It’s just the demon, at the foot of the bed, looming over Ryan. Genuinely the stuff of his nightmares; dread washes over Ryan uncomfortably thick, so much that he feels like he could choke on it. He tries to open his mouth and gasp for air or maybe to scream for Shane, but it doesn’t work. All he can do is stare, eyes wide, as the demon’s shadowy form starts to creep onto the bed.

Ryan can’t move, can barely breathe, as the demon inches closer. It extends something like an arm with a clawed hand attached. It doesn’t stay corporeal, flickering in and out of existence at random, but it’s clearly reaching for Indy. The claws look sharp when they aren’t dissolving like static and the closer they get, the more labored Ryan breathes.

The demon doesn’t have a face. There’s nothing but inky blackness where a head or eyes or mouth would be, but it seems to look at Ryan when its hand is within inches of Indy. There’s no expression but Ryan can feel the smugness radiating off the entity, the victory emanating in waves. Ryan’s eyes flutter but don’t quite shut—he doesn’t know if he blinks if the demon will disappear, or if it’ll finally win. Rage is coursing alongside the fear in Ryan’s veins and it’s only made worse by being frozen in place.

One claw just barely grazes Indy’s fur, it’s not even enough to wake the mothbaby, before the demon is wrenched back.

From there, everything happens quickly.

The demon is flung backwards off the bed and hits the opposite wall without a sound. It stands, form flickering worse than before, just as Mothman appears at the end of the bed. His wings are spread to their full length, so wide the tips practically brush each side of the bedroom. It effectively hides most of the demon from Ryan’s view, which is almost a relief.

Mothman lets out a screech after that, one that would rattle the walls if they weren’t in…whatever sort of not-quite-reality this is. Then, Mothman charges. He flies at the demon and when the black shadow tries to skirt to the side, Mothman catches it in a steely, enormous grip. He slams it against the wall a second time. Ryan can’t help but note how the picture frames along the walls and the posters pinned up don’t even shake or flutter.

Mothman leans in close, his gigantic form still obscuring the demon from view, and growls something low and sharp. It’s not English, or at least doesn’t sound like it. Ryan can’t parse through any individual words. The only thing he can identify is that it sounds menacing, a warning.

The demon lets out a wail in response and if he weren’t frozen, Ryan would flinch. It’s earsplitting, but Mothman seems unaffected. He growls again and the demon screeches right back—and then the scene starts to fade.

Distantly, Shane’s voice interrupts the screaming match between Mothman and the demon.

_“Ryan—Ryan, what’s wrong?”_

Ryan doesn’t wake up though. He can’t, or maybe he just won’t, he’s not totally sure. Mothman, hazy and unfocused in Ryan’s eyes, looks over his shoulder at Ryan. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. His red eyes just bore into Ryan’s own brown ones, and Ryan exhales slowly. He can’t nod and he can’t speak but Mothman seems to understand what he isn’t saying, because he turns back to the demon and raises the clawed hand that’s not wrapped around what must be the demon’s neck.

_“Ryan, can you hear me?”_

Ryan doesn’t know how to communicate to Shane that _now is not a good time_. In his line of sight, Shane’s face appears as he searches Ryan’s expression almost frantically. Behind him, Mothman and the demon start to fight again. Black tendrils curl around Mothman’s body from the legs up, while one of Mothman’s claws tears holes in the demon’s form. Ryan’s focus shifts inconsistently between the fight and Shane, one then the other becoming starkly clear and then going fuzzy, like a bad connection.

Ryan’s eyes hurt and his head aches from the constantly shifting focus. His heart races in his chest and he can’t catch his breath like he’s been running a marathon. Shane’s hands are on him now, something he can just barely feel in this weird dreamlike state. The touch is soothing, if tinged with panic. Shane’s still talking, too, all sorts of comforting and crazed things that dull into a droning tone in Ryan’s ears.

Mothman screams suddenly and his wings flap and flare out, unnatural in how they don’t disturb anything in the bedroom. There’s a gurgling sound, like a clogged drain, followed by a final, rumbling growl.

Then silence, deafening in its suddenness.

 

 _“Ryan, wha—?”_ Shane’s voice stops abruptly and Ryan’s dimly aware of the bed sinking beside him.

Ryan’s eyes are heavy all of a sudden, so much so it’s a strain to keep them open. He can faintly see Mothman still toward the foot of the bed, but there’s no longer black tendrils trailing his body and there’s nothing in his clawed hands. His red eyes are bright and he blinks once and Ryan mirrors him.

It feels like it happens both in the blink of an eye and ages later, but Ryan eventually opens his eyes again and immediately starts to kick. There’s nothing but obscure black sky around him, extending in all directions. He’s kicking as if he’s trying to swim and only stops when a hand takes his elbow and holds firm.

“Ryan, it’s okay.” A pause. “I think.”

Ryan looks over and sure enough, Shane is beside him, floating just like Ryan. “You _think_.”

Shane shrugs. There’s a faint pop that draws both their attentions.

Mothman floats before them. His wings are drawn in close and he towers over them. There’s a long, heavy moment of silence before he speaks, something Ryan’s hearing for the first time.

_“Thank you.”_

Suddenly, there’s grass under Ryan’s feet and he knows they’re in the Point Pleasant woods, just like his dreams before the whole demon mess really started. Shane’s hand on his arm slips down to link their fingers.

_“Thank you for caring for my child.”_

Ryan nods. Then, “You’re welcome. It wasn’t like, a hardship, or anything.” Except in all the ways it kind of was, but it feels tactless to bring those up now. “Is, uh…is it safe, now? Is the demon gone?”

 _“The beast is gone, yes.”_ Mothman doesn’t really have a mouth, but Ryan gets the feeling that the cryptid would be smiling if he did. _“Thank you for protecting my child.”_ Every word that’s spoken isn’t said verbally so much as it just appears inside Ryan’s mind, sort of like he’s talking to himself except _not_. Mothman’s voice has an unidentifiable pitch or tone and he speaks formally, carefully. It all reverberates in Ryan’s skull but it’s not exactly unpleasant so much as it is strange.

“Where’s Indy?” Shane asks, hand tightening around Ryan’s.

 _“I will be taking my child back.”_ Mothman looks from Shane to Ryan. He blinks slowly. _“For my child’s safety, all memories will have to be erased.”_

Ryan’s heart drops into his stomach. “No.” A lump forms in his throat. “Please.”

Mothman pauses. _“It is what must be done. To protect. Keep protecting.”_

Ryan’s eyes are wet now and it stings after having them open for so long. “You—you can’t.” He rubs at his eyes with his free hand and tries to swallow back sudden sobs that are rising in his chest. “It’s been _months_ , you can’t just take that away from us.”

Shane doesn’t say anything; he holds Ryan’s hand tight and stares at him.

Mothman stares too. His red eyes narrow on Ryan. His antennae twitch.

_“Others’ memories, then.”_

It takes a moment for the words to sink in past the panic flurrying around Ryan’s thoughts. “Others’?”

_“Not yours. You may keep your memories of my child. But the people you know, those who have seen my child. They must forget.”_

Ryan’s next breath is wet and relieved. “So, our coworkers. Neighbors.”

_“Yes.”_

“Okay,” Shane says, when Ryan can’t get the words out. Ryan squeezes his hand in thanks.

 _“Thank you.”_ Mothman strides closer. His wings twitch at his back. _“I am sorry.”_

Ryan shrugs. “You’ve got a good kid,” he says shakily.

Again, Mothman seems like he’d be smiling if he could. He nods. _“Indeed. Thank you for contributing to that.”_

Ryan smiles back and wipes again at a stray tear that’s streaking down his cheek.

_“I will take my child home, now.”_

“Do we get to say goodbye?” Shane asks it and in the same moment, an icy feeling cuts through Ryan’s chest. He looks surreptitiously around the clearing they stand in, but Indy is nowhere to be found.

Mothman looks between them and his antennae both droop, ever so slightly. _“It would not be safe to keep my child away from their home any longer, at this time.”_

A quiet sob does escape Ryan this time. He hates that he saw this coming and he hates that he didn’t prepare himself better for it; he hates that, in some deep part of his mind, he thought they might actually get to _keep_ Indy, which is just _stupid._

_“You are not stupid.”_

Ryan looks up, startled. Mothman is blurry through the tears.

 _“I do not blame you for growing attached. I appreciate it, even.”_ Mothman reaches out and lays a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, then the other on Shane’s. _“There is no one else I would have trusted with my child’s life. I am glad I picked you two.”_ He squeezes, the tips of his claws poking into Ryan’s shoulder, but not painfully, just a dull pressure. _“I am sorry for the trouble it caused. I am not sorry it was you two.”_

Ryan nods again. “I’m—I don’t know what to say. Thanks, I guess?” _For the glowing recommendation,_ he thinks a little sarcastically, but also, _for the opportunity, for letting us keep these memories, for saving the day._

Mothman tilts his head. _“I will be going, now. Should you return to my home, perhaps we will meet again.”_

 

Ryan wakes up crying, and Shane wastes no time gathering him into his arms. Ryan can feel Shane’s own tears dripping into his hair. Indy’s pillow, between their own pillows, is empty, still warm. Ryan’s tears dry up quickly as exhaustion overwhelms him, but he doesn’t move away from Shane. Shane’s arms are locked tight around him and Ryan’s face is pressed into Shane’s neck, Shane’s own face buried in Ryan’s hair.

“It was real, right?” Ryan asks, voice hoarse.

“Yeah, Ryan.” Shane’s words are muffled. “It was definitely real.”

           

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Shane, after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how much do y'all hate me for chapter ten?? ahaha

**_...epilogue_ **

 

 

 

They start the following morning by calling in sick to work. Then, still in their pajamas, they wordlessly start to clean the living room. It’s scattered in various toys and blankets, and the scrapbook lays open and incomplete on the coffee table. Shane starts on the blankets, meticulously folding them, as Ryan gathers the toys into their basket. It’s a little collapsible thing they bought when the number of toys for Indy had just gotten to be _too much_. Indy had been pretty good about making sure all the toys ended up back in the basket at the end of the night, but evidently the night before was an exception.

Ryan sniffles as he curls his fingers around a crinkly baby toy and shoves it into the basket. Shane looks over at him but doesn’t say anything. Between the two of them, it shouldn’t take long to clean up the cluttered living room, but they’re both so weighed down—with sleep, with sadness—that it takes upwards of an hour.

After, when the basket of toys is on the table and all of Indy’s blankets have been packed into a box, they stand side by side in the living room. Obi slinks in after a bit and winds around their ankles, meowing softly.

“Hey, little dude,” Shane says, probably just instinctual, but he freezes in reaching down to pet Obi and Ryan’s heart skips a beat. He closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten before opening them again. “Ryan—?”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, voice clipped. He gives Shane a watery smile. “Indy is safe. That’s all that matters.”

Shane purses his lips. “Yeah.”

Ryan shrugs. “It’s gonna be fine. _We’re_ gonna be fine. Indy’s safe,” he says again.

It’s weird going into work after a long weekend—Indy went home on a Thursday, and Monday rolls around like a black, gloomy cloud looming overhead. No one really spares them a second glance. Some people wave, or grin, or mouth “hello.” No one mentions Indy or the way Shane and Ryan walk in together, hands linked. They make it to their desk with minimal fanfare, and it only adds to the ache in Ryan’s chest.

Ryan sits at his desk and boots up his computer in a daze. He’s dimly aware of Shane doing the same beside him. Ryan feels vaguely like he’s trapped in a fish tank. Everything is muddled, and his thoughts are swimming in his head, intangible and fleeting. He’s so lost in the nothingness inside his head he doesn’t even realize Kelsey Darragh is talking to them until Shane taps him on the shoulder.

“What? Sorry?” Ryan blinks.

Kelsey frowns. “You okay?”

“Yep,” Ryan replies, probably a little too quick. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you guys would be up for a video? You two have been together for, like, a couple months now, right?”

(Idly, Ryan realizes that it’s as if Indy has been plucked from the fabric of their lives, but with everything else left intact. Along with this, he realizes they never explicitly told anyone they were together, including the fans. He’s exhausting and his thoughts barely string together, but he knows they’ll need to put together some sort of announcement.)

“Right,” Shane says. “Email us the pitch? Ryan still needs his coffee.”

Kelsey laughs lightly, though she still looks a little concerned. “You got it.”

When she’s gone, Shane looks at Ryan. “Are you gonna be able to do this?”

Ryan nods immediately. “I have to. It’s _our job_.” He rubs a hand over his face. “It’s just gonna take a little adjusting, is all.”

Shane stares at him intently.

“It’s just going to take some time,” Ryan repeats.

“Ryan.” Shane scoots his chair closer and speaks a little quieter. “You and Indy…you two really bonded, you know.”

“So did you,” Ryan interjects.

Shane smiles faintly. “Yeah, but not like you two. It’s alright if you can’t do this right now. We don’t have to do Kelsey’s video, whatever it is. We can keep the show on hiatus a little longer. Whatever you need.”

Ryan lets Shane’s words wash over him for a minute. He really thinks about it—about the pain in his chest, the sense of loss, how muddled his thoughts are. It doesn’t take him quite as long as he thought to make a decision.

“I’m gonna start putting together a new episode. We’re due for the next True Crime season anyway.”

Shane pauses, then leans in and kisses Ryan gently. “Okay.”

It’s not magically easier after that. Not by a long shot. But working on a new season of episodes gives Ryan something else to throw himself into. Something that’s not caring for Indy. Something that’s not researching the best way to defeat demons. Something that is, for him, _normal_. It still aches, and sometimes he just lays flat on the ground in his living room and stares at the ceiling; sometimes Shane lays beside him. It kind of helps.

But setting up the new season manages to take his mind off the worst of things, most of the time. Announcing the new season is a thrill he’s sorely missed, especially with the outpouring of support from fans. He and Shane make a quick video, just the two of them in the apartment, to talk a little bit about the new season, their relationship, and some reasons for the hiatus (like Jake’s accident.) The response is overwhelmingly positive, and excited, and it feeds into Ryan’s own mood.

Things slowly but surely shift back to some kind of normal. They send their episode pitches off to supervisors and call up various hotels and building owners to make arrangements for filming. TJ takes time off for the arrival of his new baby and Ryan pointedly does not think about what it felt like to hold Indy. He and Shane go into work together, usually go home at the same time unless one of them has to stay late for something; they go on dates, like regular people, to places like the movies and Knott’s Berry Farm, and fancy restaurants for dinner.

Sometimes Ryan still wakes up reaching for Indy’s favorite pillow, only to remember it’s packed away in the back of his closet with Indy’s other things. Sometimes Ryan sees an especially crunchy leaf on the sidewalk and thinks _Indy would love that one_ , and has to walk away a little bit quicker. Sometimes Ryan wears his Lakers jersey and has to force himself to not remember how Indy looked in his matching jersey and hat.

It’s a process.

Holding TJ’s baby hurts, but the kid is so fucking cute it balances out a little bit. Some part of Ryan is terrified to hold a baby, so young and small, but it’s muscle memory at this point. Sure, Indy wasn’t a typical baby; Ryan didn’t have to focus so much on supporting the head and things like that, but the instinct is the same. He’s aware of TJ making some kind of fondly smart comment about the whole thing but it falls on deaf ears.

Shane snaps a couple pictures, but Ryan doesn’t ask to see them.

It’s weird to think of this as  _ their _ bedroom, but when it’s like this—when they’re tangled so thoroughly in one another—it’s impossible to think of the bedroom, the apartment, any other way. Shane’s on top of him, a warm and heavy weight caging him against the bed. Ryan’s hands clench on his shoulders and pull him closer. The kiss is wet, deep; it makes Ryan’s thoughts hazy.

Shane pulls back and grins against Ryan’s lips. “Yeah?” he breathes.

Ryan can’t find it in himself to inhale; he just nods. Shane understands whatever it is he can’t say and leans back. He watches Shane's tall, lanky body stretch to the bedside table as he fumbles with the drawer. Ryan’s enthralled with the long lines of Shane’s neck, the too-small-tee that he’s wearing that exposes the strip of skin above his jeans—but a soft  _ thwack _ and a dull  _ thud _ pull Ryan’s attention.

Shane freezes. Ryan looks over to see his hand hovering next to the white baby monitor, the receiver that they kept in the bedroom back when…

A lump forms in Ryan’s throat. The monitor’s been there this whole time, but seeing it on its side has all of Ryan’s thoughts caving in on themselves.

Shane’s back to him in an instant, cupping his face and pushing their foreheads together. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” His voice is watery too, which is a little gratifying, but mostly makes Ryan’s heart ache  _ more _ . 

“What’re we doing?” Ryan asks softly. They’ve sunk to the bed, side by side, hands on each other but touches feather-light. 

“What do you mean?”

Ryan can’t look at Shane. “I mean.” Just beyond Shane’s head, Ryan can see the still-tipped over baby monitor. “Indy brought us together.”

“I’d argue we were already pretty close, even without adopting a kid.”

Ryan tries to smile. 

“Ryan…” Shane starts. “I’ve loved you for a while. Long before Indy ever came into the picture. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course I do.”

Shane props himself up on his elbow and takes over Ryan’s line of sight. “I don’t think you do, Ryan. I told you I was scared, and that’s why I didn’t make a move, but I didn’t ever tell you what I was scared of.

“We had— _have_ —this great thing going, with Unsolved, and BUN, and Ruining History. I didn’t want to jeopardize that. But the shows, the channel, those are all secondary to you and me. Our friendship. That’s always come first. And I didn’t want to screw that up by taking a chance that might not pay off.”

Ryan lets Shane’s words wash over him. He doesn’t realize he’s been quiet for so long until Shane whispers, “Please say something.” 

“Same,” Ryan says, then winces. “I mean—me too. I didn’t wanna ruin what we had, or make it weird, if it didn’t work out.” 

Shane lets out a long breath, like he’s relieved. “Indy, that whole situation, none of it changed how I’ve felt about you. Just forced us to get our shit together, didn’t it?”

Ryan nods and reaches up to wrap a hand around the back of Shane’s neck. He hauls him down for a gentle kiss. Shane lets him lead but stays close even after the kiss breaks. “I love you,” Ryan says quietly.

“I love you, too.” 

Ryan grins after a moment, then lets his hand slide from Shane’s neck to toy with the loose collar of his t-shirt. Shane waits him out, letting out a soft, surprised noise when Ryan tugs him closer. It pushes their bodies together, ankle to chest, noses brushing.

“C’mon,” Ryan says. “Where were we?” 

By the time they start filming for the new True Crime season, Ryan’s gotten his thoughts of Indy mostly under control.

The loss of Indy is less like an open wound and more like a dull bruise; it only hurts if Ryan thinks about it, and even then, only a faint, gentle pain. Sometimes Ryan has to stop talking or walking or whatever he was doing, close his eyes, and breathe. Shane looks at him at these times with a mixture of sadness and concern.

The woman who owns the house they’re investigating, any time Ryan has to take this small pause, gives him a worried look. She just seems curious, concerned like the grandma she is—she takes time showing off her pictures of her grandkids before she’s gone for the evening, leaving them to their filming.

“How’s it feel to be back in the saddle, Ryan?” Shane asks as they roll out their sleeping bags on the dusty floor. Moonlight streams in through an open window, and the shadows in the corners of the room make Ryan’s hair stand on end.

“Good,” he replies, because it’s true. As he settles into his sleeping bag, glasses askew on his face, he feels more at peace than he has in months. He watches Shane cram his insanely long limbs into a sleeping bag too, then reaches for the other man to entwine their fingers. “You?”

“Feels great,” Shane says with a soft smile. “Been too long.”

Ryan nods. They both rest on their sides with their hands linked between them. It’s a mirror image of how they sleep at home on their bed. Between blinks, Ryan can almost picture Indy resting in the space separating them.

Shane’s whispering breaks the silence only moments after it’s settled. “Ryan? Do you think you want kids?”

Ryan’s eyes, which had been drooping, snap open. “What?”

Shane shrugs. “You want kids, someday?” Shane isn’t quite looking at him; his gaze is focused over Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan’s mouth goes dry. “Uh.”

“I do,” Shane supplies. “Not right _now_.” The statement is loaded—

_Not right now because it’s too soon after Indy, because we haven’t been dating long enough, because human kids are probably way different than cryptid infants, not right now—_

“But someday,” Shane continues. His thumb rubs over Ryan’s knuckles. “I think we’d do pretty good.” He’s talking low enough that the cameras won’t pick up on it and it’ll be easy enough to edit out the sound from their mics.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, trying to echo Shane’s tone and volume. His voice shakes slightly. “I do.”

Shane’s grin widens. “Cool,” he says easily. “How many?”

A small laugh bursts from Ryan. “What?” He asks again.

“How many kids? This is important stuff, Ryan. What if I want a fucking Brady Bunch gaggle and you only want one or two? This is the shit people call deal-breakers.” The words come out firm and quick, but his expression is goofy and sweet where moonlight illuminates it.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Ryan says in between quick laughs. “Probably two, or something like that. I guess, I don’t really know, anymore.”

Shane hums in response. “I don’t want a Brady Bunch gaggle, for the record.”

“Thank fuck,” Ryan says. “That _could_ actually be a deal-breaker.”

Shane shakes his head and his sleeping bag crinkles as he leans over to brush a kiss over Ryan’s lips. “I’m kinda thinking two, too. S’a nice number.”

“Yeah.” Ryan presses his forehead to Shane’s. “We’ve got time to decide.”

Shane’s hand tightens around his. “We do.”

It’s a byproduct of trying not to think of Indy too often, but Ryan sort of forgets about the scrapbooks. He doesn’t mean to—how could he? They’re some of the last tangible things he has that prove what happened was _real_. But they also hurt to look at; to even try and piece them together _aches_. Same as the pictures on his phone and the boxes of Indy’s things stashed deep in the closet.

So he’s just not expecting to come home to his apartment one day to see three scrapbooks laid across the coffee table, with Shane on the couch and his arms spread in invitation.

“What’s this?” Ryan asks cautiously. He drops his gym bag by the door and toes out of his sneakers before padding over to the couch. He drops to Shane’s side and immediately, Shane wraps an arm around him.

“The scrapbooks,” Shane says, a little bit of _duh_ in his tone.

Ryan elbows him. “I know _that_ , I just…why?”

Shane’s lips purse and he takes a while to answer. “I finished them a couple weeks ago, but it still felt too soon. I dunno, today just felt…right.”

“You’ve been working on them this whole time?”

“Of course. I was gonna ask to do it together, but it just didn’t seem like a good idea.”

Ryan can’t really argue with that. He reaches out and skirts his fingers over the edge of the scrapbook to the far left. “Can I?” he asks.

Shane nods.

Ryan takes the scrapbook on the far left, one bound in a blue and white checkered pattern, and pulls it into his lap. He opens it slowly. The first page is a picture of the three of them: Shane’s arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and Indy in Ryan’s arms. Above the picture, in foamy sticker letters, reads: “ _RAISING INDY._ ”

Ryan traces the letters with a shaking finger. They’re multi-colored and unevenly placed across the page. It’s halfway between artistic and unskilled, and Ryan _loves it_.

Below the picture, in Shane’s handwriting, it says, “ _Volume One. For Ryan._ ”

“Dude,” Ryan says, his voice already watered down and tears in his eyes. “The fuck.”

Shane laughs. “Go on.”

Ryan turns the thick, plastic covered page. He swallows a gasp: here, on the first couple pages, are pictures he’s never seen. Pictures he didn’t even know existed.

It’s him, in the car back to the airport, Indy in his lap. It’s his back as they trudge through the airport, arms curled tight around Indy. It’s him, dozing lightly on the plane back from Virginia with Indy sleeping—and then one with Indy staring intently at the camera. They’re all taken at awkward angles, like Shane was trying to be discreet about it.

“I didn’t even…” Ryan runs a finger down the picture where Indy stares right at the camera.

“I know. I kept thinking if I took a picture, maybe Indy wouldn’t be in it? And, I dunno. It’d give me a clue?” Shane shrugs and laughs awkwardly. “I just ended up with some creepy pictures of you two.”

“You did,” Ryan agrees with a smile.  

He takes a little longer to admire the pictures; they feel decades away, now, instead of just months, those little moments that he still remembers with vivid clarity. The next few pages contain pictures Ryan does recognize, because they came from his phone. There’s more taken from Shane’s angle, and slowly they get less and less discreet and awkwardly-angled and more intentional.

Ryan lets out a burst of wet laughter when he comes to a page titled _‘little kernel’_ with popcorn stickers decorating the edges of the paper. There are pictures of Indy with all its toys and blankets and dressed in various outfits. The last picture in the blue and white checkered book is one of Indy and Ryan, both in matching Lakers jerseys.

Ryan almost doesn’t want to pick up the second book, but a quick glance at Shane and a reassuring nod have him doing it anyway. This one is silver, with a picture in the center of the outside cover. It’s just Indy, asleep, sitting up with its little legs stuck out in front. A familiar sight. The first page reads, again in foamy sticker letters, “ _RAISING INDY_ ,” with “ _Volume Two_ ” written just underneath it in neat scrawl.

Ryan flips through the pages. Pictures of him and Indy sleeping, of Shane and Indy sleeping, of Indy with toys floating around its head and with leaves piled beside it. One page is titled _baby’s first steps_ , just like Shane had first shown Ryan, and there’s a couple pictures of Indy floating through the air as well as times when it toddled across the carpet or the couch toward one of them. Towards the end of the second book are the pictures from the photoshoot, with Shane and Indy in their matching bow ties, bright faces aimed at the camera.

Ryan’s cheeks are tacky with tears by the time he closes the silver book. Shane takes it from him and sets it back on the coffee table. His hand hesitates over the third book, one bound in a bright red color that should be garish, but only reminds Ryan of Indy’s eyes.

“Yeah?” Shane asks.

Ryan nods and accepts the book from Shane.

“ _RAISING INDY_ ,” yet again. “ _Volume Three_.” This time, both things are on the outside of the scrapbook, tucked between the cover and the plastic that wraps around the book to keep it protected. On the inside cover, instead of a title or a picture or anything else, there’s a note.

_Ryan—_

_This book is blank. I made the first two because it was helping_ me _process what happened, and I knew it was too soon after everything to ask you to help. But it wouldn’t be fair to have done this entirely without your input, so this book is_ really _the one that’s for you._

_Do whatever you want with it, put whatever pictures you want in it. I’ve still got all the craft stuff saved in a box that you can use to decorate it. I only did the front cover._

_We don’t say this a lot, but I do love you Ryan. And I love what we had with Indy, while we had it. And I know I’m going to love whatever comes next, because it’s with you._

_Yours,_

_Shane._

Ryan coughs around a sob. “Jesus Christ, Shane,” he says as he wipes furiously at his eyes. “What gives you the fucking right?”

Shane looks stricken for a moment, but when Ryan grins at him, the worry seems to melt away.

“It’s just like it says,” Shane answers with a gentle tap to his handwriting in the front cover. “This one is yours.”

Ryan sets the book aside on the couch and practically launches himself at Shane. “You’re the fucking worst,” he says, unsure if his gasps are from laughter or crying. He kisses Shane and wraps his arms around his neck and holds on tight.

“I love it,” Ryan says a few moments later. They’ve rearranged themselves on the couch and Ryan pillows his head on Shane’s chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Plus, I kinda ran out of ideas on my own for more fun pages and figured you’d think of something.”

Ryan rolls his eyes—but ideas are already swirling around in his head.

It takes him a while, but eventually, Ryan sits down with the third scrapbook and Shane’s box of craft supplies and readies himself to work. He’s got a stack of pictures on his left, a set of fine point pens to his right, and the first page of the scrapbook open in front of him. It’s immediately overwhelming, just like reading the first two volumes were. Ryan’s heart thuds rapidly in his chest as panic starts to overtake him.

_What if I mess it up? What if it looks stupid? What if I can’t do this?_

Ryan blinks and forces himself to breathe evenly. He sits back against the couch and tilts his head back. As he’s breathing, Shane comes out of the bathroom, skin still damp from his shower even though he’s dressed now.

“How’s it coming?” he asks as he walks over to Ryan. He looks down at the blank page. “That good, huh?”

“Just nervous,” Ryan says. He opens his mouth to explain _why_ , when there’s a knock at the door.

Ryan freezes and looks up at Shane, who quirks an eyebrow back at him.

“Were we expecting someone?” Shane asks as he moves toward the door. Ryan scrambles to stand and follows close at Shane’s heels.

“Don’t think so,” Ryan says.

They both hesitate once they reach the door. Shane reaches out a hand but doesn’t quite touch the doorknob, and Ryan is pressed to his back but doesn’t make a move to open the door either. Ryan and Shane share another confused look just as there’s a second set of knocks at the door.

“We’re being ridiculous,” Shane says. “We’re popular guys, it could be any of our friends. Come to surprise us, or something.”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, or family.” Even so, he side-eyes the doorknob harder. “Open it.”

Shane rolls his eyes at Ryan’s challenging tone. He still finally curls his fingers around the doorknob, and turns.

For a moment, one single second, Ryan is _certain_ that he’s dead. Or dreaming. Or _something._

Because there, just outside the front door of his apartment, is Indy. It’s wearing a wide brim hat with holes cut out for its antennae. There’s even a little suitcase beside the mothbaby, a suitcase nearly as _big_ as Indy.

Indy chirps.

“Are you seeing—?”

“I am,” Ryan interrupts Shane’s question. He steps around Shane and moves closer. Indy chirps again and bounces on its little legs, its hat tilting to one side. “Hey, little dude.”

Indy trills and comes stumbling forward, wings flapping, as it barrels into Ryan’s shins. Ryan drops to a crouch instantly and gathers Indy into his arms. Indy goes easily and burrows its face against his chest, chirping and trilling and squeaking all the while.

Ryan looks up as Shane reaches out into the hall to grab the suitcase still sitting on the doorstep. He shuffles back and shuts the door, and Ryan finally stands with Indy cradled in his arms once again.

“How—?” Ryan starts.

“Why?” Shane adds.

They both look down at Indy for answers, and get only red eyes slowly blinking in response. The familiar sound of Indy’s low purr fills their ears.

“Check the suitcase?” Ryan says. He’d do it, but he doesn’t think he could uncurl his arms from around Indy even if he _wanted_ to. Which he definitely doesn’t.

Shane nods and brings the suitcase over to the couch. He opens it in his lap and a laugh comes from him, sudden and loud. He looks up at Ryan, then back down at the suitcase. He reaches into it and presents an envelope to Ryan, with both their names written in ornate handwriting across the front.

Ryan inhales shakily. Slowly, every footstep unsteady, he comes to sit beside Shane, all the while holding Indy tighter and closer to his chest. Indy chirps and squirms in his arms to get a better look at the envelope as Shane tears it open and tugs out the letter inside.

Aloud, Shane reads:

_Mr. Bergara and Mr. Madej,_

_Do not be alarmed by my child’s presence. Nothing is wrong, this time. I have simply delivered my child to you for the weekend. Indy, as you call them, has been simply inconsolable since I took them home. Understandable, of course, as you both mean quite a lot to my child._

_So I present you with this proposition: every so often, most likely whenever Indy demands it, they will stay a few days or nights at your home before returning to me. If this is acceptable, please include a note detailing the best schedule that works for the two of you. If this is unacceptable, I understand._

_(Though Indy may not.)_

_Regards,_

 

“I can’t read the name that’s written,” Shane says. “It’s—is that even English?”

Ryan peers over his shoulder. “I’m gonna guess _no_. But that’s not really surprising.”

“I mean, it’s not, but still. I feel like we need to call the guy something _other_ than Mothman at this point, if we have like…joint custody of his _kid_.”

Ryan shrugs. “Maybe he’ll tell us sometime.” He bends and drops a kiss to the top of Indy’s head. “You missed us, huh, little dude?”

Indy chirps and smacks its antennae against Ryan’s face.

“What, no love for Papa Madej?” Shane asks, setting the suitcase and the letter aside.

Indy wriggles in Ryan’s hold until he lets go; once it’s free, the mothbaby is off, floating with ease to Shane and bumping its face to Shane’s cheek. Its wings flap smoothly, more so than before, as though floating and flying comes easier to Indy now. Despite this, Indy still drops suddenly and Shane catches it with a familiar ease.

“Thought so,” Shane proclaims proudly.

“Indy still came to me first,” Ryan retorts. He leans over and unceremoniously presses his face to the top of Indy’s head. Something inside him, something that’s been out of control and hurting since Indy first left, finally settles.

When Ryan lifts his face, Shane meets him for a quick kiss. It’d be longer, Ryan can feel it, but Indy’s antennae tickle their chins and it’s impossible to resist leaning down and cooing to the mothbaby. Indy relishes in the attention, anyway.

 

Later that night, after Shane has dozed off with an arm thrown over Ryan’s waist and Indy is on its favorite pillow between them, Ryan smiles. He lets his eyelids droop and presses his lips to Indy’s cheek, and murmurs—

“Welcome back, Indy.”

**Author's Note:**

> And now, the thank you's! (and hooo boy, hope I'm not forgetting anyone!)
> 
> Big thanks to...  
> -Yet again, [Hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect) and [Bess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessyboo/pseuds/bessyboo) for beta'ing, and to bess for helping create this story, for the cover art, and for cheerleading the fuck out of this thing.  
> -The Shyan discord, for the endless support and encouragement, without them this definitely wouldn't have happened!  
> -To [Meg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/pseuds/middlecyclone) for the 'little kernel' nickname; to [Theseus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze) for the 'leppy' nickname; to [Bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beethechange/pseuds/beethechange) for naming the mothbaby indy, that was all her.  
> -To [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teuthidtransmitter/pseuds/teuthidtransmitter), who made the Indy art used in the cover!  
> -To an artist who wishes to remain unnamed, for the Indy emoji used in the fic!  
> -To [Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantarina/pseuds/cantarina), for making the lovely podfic excerpts from the first four chapters of this fic!! (I'll add in the links once they're finished!)


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